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UNIVERSITY  OF 

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FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 

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fmrjaimir  '  '  ■ 


This  book  must  not 
be  token  from  the 
Library  building. 


APPLETONS'  LIBRARY  OF  AMERICAN  FICTION^. 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT 


A    J^OXEL, 


^^■ 


BY  CHEISTIAT^  REID, 


AUTHOR     OF     "MORTON     HOUSE,"     "  V  A  I,  E  R  1 K     AYLMER,"     EIC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


p 


NEW  YORK: 
B.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

549    &    561    BROADWAY. 
1873. 


magmmmt 


Price,  $1.00. 


i 


B  K  E  S  S  A  N  T. 

A   e^OVEL. 

By  JULIAN   HA^VTHORNE. 

1  vol.     12mo.     Cloth Price,  $1.50. 


From  (he  London  Examiner. 
"  We  will  not  say  that  Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne  has  received  a  double  portion  of  hia 
father's  spirit,  but  '  Bressant '  proves  that  he  has  inherited  the  distinctive  tone  and 
iibre  of  a  gift  which  was  altogether  exceptional,  and  moved  the  author  of  the  '  Scar- 
let Letter  '  beyond  the  reach  of  imitators. 

"Bressant,  Sophie,  and  Cornelia,  appear  to  us  invested  with  a  sort  of  enchantment 
■wliich  we  should  find  it  difficult  to  account  for  by  any  reference  to  any  special  pas- 
sable in  their  story." 

From  the  London  Athenceum. 
"  Mr.  Hawthorne's  book  forms  a  remarkable  contrast,  in  point  of  power  and  interest, 
to  the  dreary  mass  of  so-called  romances  through  which  the  leviewer  works  his  way. 
It  is  not  our  purpose  to  forestall  the  reader,  by  any  detailed  account  of  the  story  ; 
euiRce  it  to  say  that,  if  we  can  accept  the  preliminary  difficulty  of  the  problem,  its  solu- 
tion, in  all  its  steps,  is  most  admirably  worked  out."       -      - 

From, the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
"So  far  as  a  man  may  be  judged  by  his  first  work,  Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne  is  en- 
dowed with  a  large  share  of  his  father's  peculiar  genius.  We  trace  in  'Bressant'  the 
same  intense  yearning  after  a  high  and  spiritual  life,  the  same  passionate  love  of  na- 
ture, the  same  subtlety  and  delicacy  of  remark,  and  also  a  little  of  the  same  tendency 
ti_)  indulge  in  the  use  of  a  half-weiid,  half-fantastic  imagery." 

From  the  New  York  Times. 
"  '  Bressant '  is,  then,  a  Avork  that  demonstrates  the  fitness  of  its  author  to  bear  the 
name  of  Hawthorne.  More  m  praise  need  not  be  said;  but,  if  the  promise  of  the 
book  shall  not  utterly  fade  and  vanish,  Julian  Hawthorne,  in  the  maturity  of  his 
power,  will  rank  side  by  side  with  him  who  has  hitherto  been  peerless,  but  whom  we 
must  hereafter  call  the  'Elder  Hawthorne.'  " 

From  the  Boston  Post. 
"  There  is  beauty  as  well  as  power  in  this  novel,  the  two  so  pleasantly  blended, 
that  the  sudden  and  incomplete  conclusion,  although  ending  the  romance  with  an  ab- 
ruptness that  is  itself  artistic,  comes  only  too  soon  for  the  reader." 

From  the  Boston  Globe. 
"  It  is  by  far  the  most  original  novel  of  the  season  that  has   been  published  at 
Jiom  J  or  abroad,  and  will  take  high  rank  among  the  best  American  novels  ever  written." 

From  the  Boston  Gazette. 
•*'  There  is  a  strength  in  the  book  which  takes  it  in  a  marked  degree  out  of  the 
range  of  ordinary  works  of  fiction.     It  is   substantially  an  original  story.     There  are 
freshness  and  vigor  in  every  part." 

From  the  Home  Journal. 
"'Bressant'  is  a  remarkable  romance,  full  of  those  subtle  touches  of  fancy,  and 
that  insight  into  the  human  heart,  which  distinguish  genius  from  the  mere  clever  and 
entertaining  writers  of  whom  we  have  perhaps  too  many." 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers,  New  York. 


c4 


'C4aj 


NINA'S    ATONEMENT, 


AND    OTHER    8  TOBIES, 


BY 


CHEISTIAN    REID, 

ArTHOU   OF    "MORTON   HOUSE,"    "  TALEEIE   ATLMES,"   ETC.,    ETC. 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.     APPLETOK     AND     COMPANY 

549     &     551     BROADWAY. 

1873. 


Enteked,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1ST3, 

By  D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 

In  tlie  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Coagi-ess,  at  Trashiagton. 


CO^TE^s'TS 


PAGE 

NINA'S  ATOKEMENT 1 

HUGirS  VENDETTA 41 

MISS   CHEEITON'S  RIVAL 63 

MY  STORY               .            .            ; 83 

THE  PAINTER'S  DREAM 103 

POWELL  VARDRAY'S  LIFE 127 

BERNARD'S   INVENTION 141 


A 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Nina  was  nineteen  on  the  21st  day  of 
June.  It  was  a  glorious  day  for  a  birth- 
day, the  young  girl  thought,  as  she  stood  on 
the  terrace  of  Wyverne  House,  looking  out 
over  the  picturesque  country  in  the  full  beau- 
ty of  its  midsummer  loveliness,  the  green, 
waving  woods,  the  golden  wheat-fields  over 
which  the  soft  breeze  stole  with  a  gentle, 
billowy  swell,  the  stately  old  house  standing 
with  an  air  of  conscious  pride  among  its 
sentinel-trees,  the  garden  abounding  in  sum- 
mer bloom  and  fragrance,  the  shrubbery  full 
of  green  depths  of  shadowy  coolness  and 
stretches  of  velvet  turf.  Taken  just  then,  it 
would  have  been  hard  to  find  a  lovelier  place 
than  this  home  of  the  Wyvernes ;  but  Juan 
Fernandez  was  probably  a  lovely  place,  also, 
only  this  fact  did  not  prevent  Alexander  Sel- 
kirk from  finding  it  exceedingly  dull — and 
scarcely  less  dull  than  Juan  Fernandez  was 
Wyverne  House.  As  Nina  stood  on  the  ter- 
race, she  was  thinking,  rather  despondently, 
of  the  monotonous  years  which  stretched 
behind  her,  and  of  the  equally  monotonous 
ones  which  might  lie  in  advance.  It  was  not 
a  very  entrancing  prospect;  and,  although 
the  girl  was  sufSciently  of  an  optimist  to  ac- 
cept life  as  it  had  been  given,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  avoid  a  feeling  of  blank  weariness 
on  this  anuiversary  of  birth,  when  one  has  a 
right  to  look  existence  in  the  face  and  ask 
what  it  has  brought  in  the  past,  or  is  likely 
to  bring  in  the  future. 

The  answer  to  these  questions  was  brief 


enough,  as  far  as  she  was  concerned.  It  had 
brought  food  and  raiment,  and  a  roof  to  shel- 
ter her,  up  to  this  date ;  it  offered,  with  lavish 
generosity,  the  same  good  gifts  for  an  indefi- 
nite length  of  time  in  the  future.  There  are 
plenty  of  people  in  the  world — good,  narrow- 
minded,  narrow-lived  people — who  would  have 
thought  such  gifts  all  she  could  possibly  need, 
and  that  to  harbor  even  a  longing  for  any 
thing  beyond,  for  some  gleam  of  that  bright- 
ness so  dear  to  the  eager  heart  of  youth,  was 
rank  discontent  and  ingratitude.  Given  "a 
comfortable  home,"  nothing  in  particular  to 
do,  and  not  the  faintest  suspicion  of  unkind 
treatment  to  endure,  and  how  could  a  girl,  who 
had  not  a  shilling  in  her  own  right,  venture  to 
expect  or  wish  for  more  ?  How  could  she  pos- 
sibly venture  to  indulge  that  desire  for  some- 
thing beyond  the  dry  husks  of  life,  which  is 
common  to  all  forms  of  buoyant  youth,  and 
which,  however  carefully  it  may  be  repressed, 
can  never  be  wholly  subdued  until  the  apathy 
of  age  comes  to  teach  sometimes  resignation, 
but  more  often  the  indifference  that  is  born  of 
hopelessness  ?  Yet,  it  may  be  said  for  Nina  that 
she  did  not  often  indulge  these  wishes,  hopes, 
regrets,  or  whatever  they  might  be  called. 
They  were  uncomfortable,  and  the  girl  was 
too  much  of  an  epicurean  to  willingly  endure 
discomfort,  much  less  to  seek  it.  She  chafed 
a  little,  sometimes,  against  the  dull  stagnation 
in  v/hich  her  youth  and  beauty  seemed  strand- 
ed ;  but  it  was  easier  to  accept  things  as  they 
came,  and  to  content  herself  with  her  novels, 
her  music,  her  dreams,  and  the  few  domestic 
occupations  that  had  fallen  into  her  hands — 


3 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


very  few  they  were,  for  Mrs.  Wyverne  was  a 
notable  housekeeper,  with  no  fancy  for  shar- 
ing the  reins  of  government.  "  It  is  a  pity 
Nina  is  not  more  domestic,"  this  lady  often 
said  ;  but  she  had  taken  no  pains  to  make 
Nina  more  domestic,  even  if  any  amount  of 
pains  would  have  accomplished  that  result — 
which  is  highly  doubtful.  And  so  the  girl 
had  dreamed  and  loitered  her  life  away,  until 
she  waked  with  a  start,  on  her  nineteenth 
birthday,  to  the  realization  that  this  monoto- 
ny was  to  make  the  sum  of  her  existence  in 
the  future  as  entirely  as  it  had  made  it  in  the 
past. 

Such  a  realization  is  always  a  shock.  No 
life  can  be  very  irksome  while  there  is  hope 
of  escape  from  it ;  but  when  we  once  realize 
that  there  is  no  escape — short  of  that  dread 
change  from  which  humanity  recoils — we  feel 
as  if  even  that  with  which  we  were  moderate- 
ly content  yesterday  had  grown  intolerable 
to-day.  Standing  on  the  terrace  that  fair  mid- 
summer day,  some  such  phase  of  feeling  came 
to  Nina.  She  felt  how  hopelessly  she  was  tied 
to  the  life  which  she  had  already  begun  to  dis- 
like, and  which  slie  would  probably  end  by 
loathing — and,  feeling  this,  a  sudden  longing 
to  escape  came  over  her — a  longing  all  the 
greater  because  there  was  scarcely  any  thing 
in  the  world  less  possible  or  less  probable  for 
her  than  escape.  She  was  not  only  entirely 
dependent  on  the  bounty  of  her  uncle,  but  she 
had  promised  to  marry  his  son.  Now,  this 
son — the  only  hope  and  heir  of  the  house  of 
Wyverne — was,  like  all  of  his  family,  a  model 
of  domestic  virtue.  He  was  one  of  the  men 
to  whom  it  would  never  occur  that  there  was 
a  duty  in  life  beyond  his  well-tilled  fields,  or 
a  pleasure  beyond  his  hearthstone,  and  a  cer- 
tain crotchet  to  be  noticed  hereafter ;  a  man 
well  known  through  all  the  country-side  to 
be  a  walking  bundle  of  good  qualities,  and 
eminently  fitted  to  make  the  happiness  of  a 
"home-loving"  woman's  life.  What  he  was 
calculated  to  be  to  a  woman  who  was  not 
home-loving,  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  to 
say.  If  we  took  the  vote  of  the  world  at 
large  on  the  fate  of  such  women — such 
"monstrosities,"  Cornelia,  surrounded  by  her 
jewels,  is  fond  of  calling  them — not  the  most 
truthful  record  of  suffering  could  alter  the 
stern  verdict  "  Served  her  right ! " 

Such  as  he  was,  however,  Ralph  Wyverne 
had  been  engaged  to  his  pretty,  penniless 
cousin  for  several  months ;  and,  as  Nina  stood 


absently  plucking  at  her  engagement -ring, 
she  was  wondering  if  it  was  indeed  true  that 
she  would  be  married  before  another  moon 
had  waxed  and  waned.  "At  least,  that  will 
be  some  change ! "  she  thought.  And  then 
she  yawned.  After  all,  would  it  be  much 
more  entertaining  to  live  the  same  old  life  as 
Nina  Wyverne  than  as  Nina  Dalzell  ?  It  was 
a  question  which  she  did  not  choose  to  an- 
swer. "  Kismet !  "  she  said,  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  Then  she  turned  and  strolled 
toward  the  house. 

As  she  entered  the  hall,  a  servant,  whom 
she  met,  told  her  that  her  cousin,  who  bad 
been  absent  for  several  days,  had  returned. 
"When  did  he  come?"  she  asked,  indiffer- 
ently, as  she  took  off  her  hat,  pushing  her 
hair  from  her  face — flushed  and  overheated 
by  her  walk  through  the  sun. 

"  Half  an  hour  ago,  ma'am,  and  there's 
another  gentleman  with  him,"  Price  an- 
swered. 

"  Another  gentleman  with  him  ! "  repeated 
Nina,  and  she  frowned  a  little.  It  was  not 
probable  that  Ralph  bad  brought  another 
gentleman  from  the  city,  where  he  had  been 
on  business.  At  least,  such  an  idea  never  oc- 
curred to  her.  It  was  one  of  the  neighbors, 
no  doubt,  whom  he  had  met  as  he  drove  over 
from  the  railroad.  "  How  provoking !  "  she 
said,  as  she  moved  away,  without  giving  Price 
any  further  opportunity  for  enlightening  her. 
The  neighbors,  individually  or  collectively, 
represented  to  Nina  every  thing  in  the  world 
— that  is,  in  her  world — most  tiresome.  She 
knew  every  one  of  them  so  well,  had  been 
bored  by  every  one  of  them  so  often,  that  she 
sighed  with  a  dismal  sense  of  coming  weari- 
ness, as  she  crossed  the  hall  toward  the  draw- 
ing-room, from  whicji  the  sound  of  voices  is- 
sued. 

And  so,  with  a  cloud  of  impatience,  not  so 
well  concealed  as  it  should  have  been,  on  her 
white  brow,  with  her  pretty  hair  carelessly 
pushed  back  from  her  face,  and  the  usual 
color  on  her  cheeks  deepened  into  the  love- 
liest flush  imaginable,  she  entered  the  room, 
where  Ralph  at  once  sprang  eagerly  to  meet 
her,  and  where  a  brown-eyed,  brown-haired, 
brown -mustachcd  stranger  was  talking  to 
Mrs.  Wyverne. 

"  Oh  ! — not  one  of  the  neighbors,  after 
all ! "  Nina  thought,  bestowing  her  first  glance 
— as  was  natural  enough — upon  such  a  vara 
avis,  as  an  undoubted  and  indisputable  stran- 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


ger  was,  at  Wyverne  House.  "  IIow  d'ye  do, 
Ralpb  ?  "  she  said  to  her  fiance.  "  You  must 
have  found  it  very  warm  driving  over  from 
the  station.  We  nonxj  of  us  looked  for  you 
to-day.     What  made  you  come  without  writ- 


in.! 


.  V  )» 


Now,  most  men  arriving  unexpectedly  at 
home,  even  after  the  absence  of  a  few  days 
only,  would  scarcely  have  been  flattered  by 
such  a  welcome  as  this  ;  but  Ralph  Wyverne 
was  the  most  unexacting  of  lovers.  Up  to 
this  time,  Nina  had  done  and  could  do  no 
wrong  in  his  eyes.  He  had  been  her  devoted 
and  unquestioning  slave  from  the  time  that 
she  first  came  to  them,  a  pretty  child-maiden, 
with  the  airs  of  a  young  princess. 

"  I  thought  you  might  not  be  sorry  to  see 
me  a  little  sooner  than  you  expected,"  he  an- 
swered, smiling.  "And  then  I  remembered 
what  day  it  was,  and  I  came  to  wish  you 
many  happy  returns,  Ninetta." 

"Did  you?"  s^iid  Nina.  "It  was  very 
kind  of  you — but  be  good  enough  to  wish 
that  there  may  be  more  entertaining  returns, 
while  you  are  about  it.  I  was  wondering  this 
morning  whether  I  was  most  a  woman  or  a 
cabbage !  And  pray  "  (lowering  her  voice) 
"who  is  this  you  have  brought  home  with 
you?" 

"It  is  Martindale!"  Ralph  answered,  with 
a  glow  of  enthusiasm.  "  I  met  him  in  the 
city.  He  is  just  back  from  Germany,  where 
he  has  been  studying  chemistry,  and  he  has 
come  down  to  help  me  with  my  experiments." 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Nina,  in  a  tone  which 
spoke  volumes  of  polite  scorn — but,  whether 
for  the  experiments  or  for  the  new-comer,  it 
was  hard  to  tell.  "  So  this  is  the  Mr.  Martin- 
dale  of  whom  you  talk  so  much ! "  she  added, 
glancing  again  at  the  stranger  —  this  time 
more  critically  than  she  had  done  before. 

"  This  is  Martindale  ! "  said  Ralph,  almost 
triumphantly. 

Then,  as  a  lull  came  in  the  conversation 
between  Mrs.  Wyverne  and  the  brown-mus- 
tached  stranger,  he  addressed  the  latter : 
"  Martindale,  let  me  present  you  to  my  cousin, 
Miss  Dalzell." 

"By  Jove!  the  one  to  whom  he  is  en- 
gaged !  "  that  gentleman  thought,  as  he  bowed 
to  the  young  girl,  who  in  truth  had  quite 
dazzled  him  when  she  came  into  the  room. 
He  had  not  been  looking  for  any  thing  half  so 
lovely,  although  Ralph  had  told  him  that  she 
was  "  a  beauty."     As  everyone  knows,  how- 


ever, this  is  such  an  arbitrary  term,  that 
Martindale's  incredulity  in  the  first  instance, 
and  surprise  in  the  second,  were  not  remark- 
able. Like  most  of  us,  he  had  heard  so  much 
of  beauty,  and  seen  so  little,  that  he  had 
grown  thoroughly  skeptical  of  all  hearsay  evi- 
dence regarding  it ;  and  so  he  was  fairly  star- 
tled by  the  radiant  loveliness  of  the  face  be- 
fore him.  It  will  not  do  to  describe  Nina, 
because  carping  critics  might  have  said,  with 
a  great  deal  of  truth,  that  the  bloom  which 
made  her  so  entrancing — which  rested  like 
down  on  the  softly-rounded  cheek  and  chin — 
was  only  that  evanescent  glory  which  French- 
men call  the  gift  of  the  devil.  Evanescent  or 
not,  however,  the  devil  certainly  knows  very 
well  what  he  is  about  when  he  bestows  it 
upon  those  whom  he  intends  for  purposes  of 
special  mischief.  Assuredly,  few  men  could 
have  turned  from  that  bewildering  freshness 
and  brilliance  of  tint,  that  melting  grace  of 
outline,  from  the  challenge  of  those  lustrous 
eyes,  or  the  crisp  wave  of  that  bright-bronze 
hair,  to  rave  over  the  very  features  of  Helen 
— granting  even  that  Helen's  features  were 
what  they  are  generally  supposed  to  have  been. 

"  I  think  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Miss  Dal- 
zell, as  we  drove  round  the  terrace,"  Martin- 
dale said.  "At  least  I  saw  a  white  dress,  but 
it  did  not  notice  us." 

"  It  did  not  see  you,"  Nina  answered. 
Although  her  life  had  been  almost  as  se- 
cluded as  that  of  Miss  Thackeray's  "Sleep- 
ing Beauty,"  she  had  never  suffered  from 
the  shyness  which  afflicted  poor  Cecilia, 
and  which,  almost  invariably,  afflicts  all  of 
Cecilia's  prototypes.  "  I  wonder  I  did  not 
see  you,"  she  pursued ;  "  but  I  suppose  I  was 
thinking  of  something  else.  I  remember  I 
fell  into  quite  a  brown  study,  as  people  say. 
It  is  not  a  very  pleasant  way  of  passing  time  ; 
but  it  is  useful  and  profitable  on  one's  birth- 
day." 

"  Is  to-day  your  birthday  ?  "  asked  Martin- 
dale. "  It  is  Midsummer-Day — the  longest  of 
the  year." 

"  Is  that  any  reason  why  it  should  not  be 
my  birthday?"  the  young  lady  demanded. 
"I  was  thinking  only  a  little  while  ago  what 
a  lovely  day  it  is  for  the  purpose — the  crown, 
as  it  were,  of  summer  richness  and  beauty. 
And  then  there  is  something  of  fairy  romance 
hanging  over  it.  Who  can  think  of  Midsum- 
mer Night  without  thinking  of  Oberon,  and 
Titania,  and  Puck  ?  " 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


"  We  will  go  out  to-night,  and  look  for 
them,"  said  Ralph.  "  Don't  the  old  romances 
say  that  fairies  hold  a  certain  power  over  chil- 
dren born  on  the  midsummer  festival  ?  Per- 
haps they  will  bring  you  a  gift,  Nina." 

"  They  have  never  done  so,  yet,"  said  Ni- 
na, shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  It  would  be 
rather  late  to  begin  when  one  is  nineteen — 
don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Martindale  ?  " 

"  Is  nineteen  so  venerable  an  age  that  it  is 
the  bound  of  all  things  ?  "  asked  Martindale, 
laughing. 

But  he  was  sorry  for  having  yielded  to  the 
inclination  when  he  saw  Nina  flush  and  turn 
away,  plainly  offended.  There  was  nothing 
which  she  disliked  so  much  as  being  laughed 
at.  It  is  not  particularly  agreeable  to  any- 
body ;  but  Nina  had  no  great  sense  of  humor, 
and  a  most  especial  dread  of  ridicule.  "  Your 
friend  is  very  uncivil,"  she  said  to  Ralph, 
who  followed  her  to  the  window  whither  she 
walked. 

"  He  did  not  mean  to  be  uncivil,"  Wyverne 
said,  apologetically.  "  I  think  you  will  like 
him  when  you  know  him,  Nina." 

"Shall  I?"  asked  Nina,  sarcastically. 
"It  will  be  a  remarkable  fact,  then,  for  I 
don't  often  like  people,  and  I  am  sure  I  shall 
not  like  any  chemical  person.  What  made 
you  bring  him,  Ralph  ?  I  think  it  was  very 
disagreeable  of  you." 

"  He  is  such  an  old  friend  of  mine,"  said 
Ralph,  a  little  crestfallen.  "And  then  the 
experiments,  Nina!  Martindale  is  a  good 
practical  chemist,  which  I  am  not ;  and  he 
will  know  how  far  I  am  right  and  how  far 
wrong." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  going  to  blow  us 
all  to  atoms  before  you  are  done  with  your 
nonsense,"  Nina  said,  impatiently.  "  I  really 
think  that  you  ought  to  have  more  sense,  and 
more  regard  for  my  wishes." 

"As  for  not  having  more  sense,  I  can't 
help  that,  you  know,  dear,"  s'aid  Ralph,  smil- 
ing ;  "  while,  as  for  your  wishes — you  will 
thank  me  for  disregarding  them  when  I  make 
a  fortune  for  you." 

"  And  what  good  vi'ould  a  dozen  fortunes 
do  me  hereP^  demanded  impetuous  Nina. 
"  I  have  heard  you  say  that  you  would  not 
leave  Wyverne  if  you  were  as  rich  as — as  the 
Rothschilds !  Besides,  I  don't  believe  in  the 
fortune — it  is  all  stuff!  You  are  not  thinking 
about  it.  You  are  only  thanking  about  your 
horrid  experiments." 


"  I  can't  help  liking  them,  you  know,"  he 
said,  with  a  ludicrous  air  of  apology. 

And,  although  the  fact  should  not  have 
required  an  apology,  it  was  true  enough. 
Nature  has  strange  freaks,  and  she  had  va- 
ried the  dull  monotony  of  the  Wyverne  race 
by  developing  an  unsuspected  man  of  science 
among  them.  If  ever  there  was  a  born 
chemist,  Ralph  Wyverne  was  that  man. 
From  an  early  period  of  boyhood,  he  had 
dabbled  in  chemistry,  had  many  times  fright- 
ened the  family  out  of  their  wits  by  untimely 
explosions,  had  turned  his  room  at  college 
into  a  laboratory,  and  since  his  return  home 
devoted  all  his  spare  time  to  experiments 
which  the  family  in  general  regarded  very 
much  as  the  people  of  the  middle  ages  re- 
garded witchcraft  and  demonology.  "  The 
boy  is  crazy ! "  his  f\ither  said,  contemptu- 
ously, while  Nina  viewed  tlie  whole  thing 
with  unqualified  impatience.  "  As  if  you  had 
to  earn  your  bread  ! "  she  would  say,  scorn- 
fully, to  Ralph,  and  when  he  talked  of  science 
she  only  stopped  her  ears.  Men  of  science 
in  all  ages  have  had  to  bear  this  kind  of 
treatment,  however,  Wyverne  consoled  him- 
self by  thinking;  and  having  a  great  deal 
of  obstinacy  in  a  quiet  way,  as  well  as  a 
great  love  for  his  "  experiments,"  his  chem- 
ical enthusiasm  managed  to  survive  it. 

It  was  a  fact,  significant  of  the  narrow 
limits  of  his  life,  that  the  only  person  whom 
he  had  ever  found  to  sympathize  with  him 
was  the  man  he  now  introduced  so  unex- 
pectedly into  his  family  circle — this  Jlartin- 
dale,  who  had  been  an  erratic  but  brilliant 
student  of  considerable  promise  when  Ralph 
knew  him  at  college,  full  of  devotion  to  sci- 
ence, but  full  also  of  crude  theories,  wild 
enough  to  have  exploded  the  whole  system 
of  chemistry  as  at  present  held  and  expound- 
ed. He  had  gained  practical  knowledge  since 
that  time  in  the  laboratory  of  a  distinguished 
German  chemist;  but,  being  a  shrewd  and 
clever  thinker,  he  still  inclined  rather  to  the 
theoretical  than  the  practical  school.  Too 
visionary,  and  too  much  a  man  of  the  world, 
to  be  ever  eminent  as  a  man  of  science,  older 
chemists  thought ;  but  still,  for  so  young  a 
man,  one  or  two  lucky  circumstances  had  al- 
ready given  him  an  enviable  reputation  in  his 
profession,  and  Ralph's  faith  in  Martindale 
was  scarcely  less  than  his  faith  in  Faraday. 
To  Nina,  however,  his  name  only  represented 
a  great  deal  of  boredom.     Ralph,  full  of  en- 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


thusiasm  for  the  talents  of  his  friend,  had 
insisted  on  reading  to  her  one  or  two  of  his 
scientific  articles,  over  which  she  had  yawned 
dismally.  She  had  heard  so  much  of  him  in 
connection  with  retorts  and  crucibles,  blow- 
pipes and  gases,  that  she  had  drawn  one  of 
those  lively  fancy  sketches  in  which  we  are 
all  prone  to  indulge — a  portrait  of  a  tall, 
light-haired,  round-shouldered  student,  afiBict- 
ed  with  shyness  and  spectacles.  She  was 
particularly  sure  of  the  spectacles,  and  was, 
therefore,  naturally  surprised  when  she  saw  a 
slender,  handsome,  well-dressed  man,  who 
scanned  her  coolly  with  clear,  brown  eyes,  full 
of  keen  observation  and  a  dash  of  humor 
which  she  did  not  fancy. 

After  the  affront  he  had  so  unwittingly 
given,  she  saw  very  little  more  of  him  for  the 
rest  of  the  morning.  It  cannot  be  said,  how- 
ever, that  this  was  her  fault,  or  the  fault  of 
Martindale,  either.  The  latter,  being  a  man 
of  taste  as  well  as  a  chemist,  would  probably 
have  liked  to  prosecute  his  acquaintance  with 
the  pretty,  piquant  face  which  had  burst 
upon  him  so  unexpectedly,  and  would  car- 
tainly  have  preferred  to  spend  the  morning  in 
the  cool,  dark,  old-fashioned  drawing-room, 
to  broiling  in  an  attic  apartment  which  Ralph 
proudly  called  his  laboratory.  But  he  had  no 
alternative  of  choice.  To  Nina's  indignation, 
Wyverne  hurried  off  on  the  first  decent  pre- 
text to  that  chosen  retreat  of  science,  taking 
his  friend  along.  "  On  my  birthday,  too ! " 
she  thought,  angrily.  Not  that  she  honestly 
cared  for  her  cousin's  society — which  more 
frequently  wearied  than  interested  her — but 
to  be  neglected  at  all  was  something  which 
this  unreasonable  young  lady  could  illy  brook 
— and  to  be  neglected  for  chemistry  was  in- 
supportable indeed. 

It  must  be  recorded  that  she  was  mali- 
cious enough  to  feel  a  sensation  of  pleasure 
when  she  read  "  disappointed  "  legibly  printed 
on  Ralph's  countenance  as  she  met,  or,  rath- 
er, was  overtaken  by  him  on  her  way  down- 
stairs before  dinner. 

"  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  your  morn- 
ing ! "  she  said,  very  stiffly,  as  he  drew  her 
hand  into  his  arm ;  but,  when  she  looked  up 
into  his  face  and  saw  the  inscription  already 
mentioned,  she  was  sufBciently  heartless  to 
laugh.  "  Dear  me  !  I  am  afraid  you  have  not 
enjoyed  it,  after  all,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  an  ignorant  fool,  Nina,"  said  poor 
Ralph,  humbly.     "  It  was  all  a  mistake,  dear. 


My  experiments  have  come  to  nothing.  Mar- 
tindale says  the  idea  is  a  good  one — I  knew 
that — but  the  process  has  been  all  wrong.  In 
fact,  he  thinks  the  result  I  wish  to  obtain  im- 
practicable." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  are  .satisfied ! "  said 
Nina,  in  a  tone  of  triumph.  "  Eow  often 
have  /  told  you  the  same  thing !  But  you 
only  laughed  at  me,  because  I  was  not  a 
chemist.  Now  that  Mr.  Martindale,  who  is  a 
chemist,  has  told  you  that  it  is  all  nonsense, 
I  hope  you  will  throw  all  your  things  into  the 
fire  and  have  done  with  them." 

"  That  is  asking  rather  too  much  of  me," 
said  Ralph,  laughing  a  little,  despite  his  sore 
disappointment,  and  the  still  sorer  sense  of 
how  little  this  disappointment  was  to  the  per- 
son who  represented  all  the  sweetness  and 
fairness  of  the  world  to  him. 

At  dinner,  nothing  further  regarding  the 
matter  transpired,  only  Nina  was  rather  more 
gracious  to  Mr.  Martindale  than  she  might 
otherwise  have  been.  She  was  very  much 
obliged  to  him  for  telling  Ralph  that  his  ob- 
noxious experiments  amounted  to  "nothing," 
and  that  the  result  which  he  wished  to  ob- 
tain— though  what  this  result  was,  she  had 
not  the  faintest  idea — was  "impracticable." 
It  showed  more  sense  than  she  had  expected 
from  anybody  who  was  "a  chemical  person" 
himself;  and  she  manifested  her  apprecia- 
tion by  a  degree  of  affability  which  astonished 
Ralph,  and  amused  Martindale  not  a  little. 
She  was  quite  a  piquant  study,  the  latter 
thought,  with  her  petulance,  her  patronage, 
her  insouciance,  and  her  really  striking  beau- 
ty. Nina  would  have  been  enraged  if  she 
had  known  how  well  she  was  entertaining 
this  student  of  chemistry  and  of  human  na- 
ture, unconsciously  to  herself. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  she  was  des- 
tined to  entertain  him  still  better — to  give 
him  a  still  clearer  insight  into  her  character — 
before  the  day  was  over.  After  the  usual 
siesta,  horses  were  always  brought  to  the 
door  at  Wyverne  House,  and,  as  regularly  as 
the  day  showed  neither  rain  nor  clouds,  Nina 
went  to  ride — sometimes  with  Ralph,  some- 
times with  her  uncle,  oftenest  with  both. 
On  the  present  afternoon,  when  she  came 
down  in  her  habit,  she  found  that  Martindale 
was  to  join  the  party.  This  might  have  been 
said  to  be  necessary — since  it  is  a  rule  of  civil- 
ized life  that  civilized  people  must  go  through 
the  form  of  providing  amusement  for  their 


6 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


guests — but  at  least  it  was  not  necessary  for 
Kalph  to  have  selected  that  particular  occasion 
I'or  reminding  his  father  of  certain  lands  which 
were  to  be  cleared,  and  upon  which  it  was 
necessary  to  decide,  involving  a  ride  through 
a  part  of  the  plantation  where  neither  Nina 
nor  Martindale  would  have  found  any  thing  of 
interest. 

"  If  Martindale  has  no  objection,  you  can 
take  him  with  you  through  the  woods,  Nina," 
Ralph  said,  good-humoredly.  "  We  will  meet 
at  the  house." 

"  Perhaps  Mr.  Martindale  has  an  objec- 
tion," Nina  demurred,  looking  with  a  spark 
of  mischief  in  her  eyes  at  that  gentleman. 

"It' is  very  likely,"  the  latter  answered, 
dryly;  "I  know  so  much  about  the  clearing 
of  lands,  and  would  probably  feel  such  a  live- 
ly interest  in  them,  that  Ralph  should  certain- 
ly take  me  with  him  as  final  referee  on  any 
disputed  point."  >- 

"  Oh,  for  the  matter  of  that,"  said  Miss 
Dalzell,  nonchalantly,  ""we  liav^  nothing  of 
special  interest  in  the  neighborhood.  I  can- 
not promise  you  a  single  interesting  object  or 
view ;  so,  perhaps  you  might  find  it  as  enter- 
taining to  hear  Ralph  and  uncle  discuss  their 
fields,  as  to  ride  with  me  through  the  woods 
and  back  again  to  the  house." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  prefer  thevdiscussion 
yourself,"  he  suggested.     •' 

But  she  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  have  listened  to  talk  of  that  kind  every 
afternoon  for  the  last  ten  years,"  she  said. 
"  It  has  lost  the  merit  of  novelty,  therefore, 
which  I  fancy  is  the  only  merit  it  could  ever 
have  possessed.  I  am  going  this  way,"  she 
added,  turning  her  horse's  head.  "  Of  course 
you  can  come  if  you  like." 

'^Thanks,"  said  he,  amused  by  the  gra- 
ciousness  of  the  permission. 

They  left  the  dusty  high-road  which  they 
had  been  following,  to  enter  a  bridle-path, 
deeply  arched  over  with  shade,  and  looking 
as  if  it  might  have  led  into  the  heart  of  an 
enchanted  forest. 

"Since  this  is  Midsummer -Eve,  we  may 
hope  to  me(?t  a  fairy  or  two,"  Martindale  said, 
after  a  while. 

"  Let  us  also  hope,  then,  that  they  will 
bring  me  the  gift  of  which  Ralph  spoke  this 
morning,"  said  Nina,  with  a  slight,  wistful 
sigh. 

Slight  as  it  was,  this  sigh  did  not  escape 
the  quick  ear  of  her  companion.     He  won- 


dered a  little  what  it  meant,  and,  being  fond 
of  studying  any  problem  which  chance  threw 
in  his  way,  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  might 
be  worth  while  to  discover  the  cause  of  that 
soft  inspiration. 

"  I  fear  that  you  would  not  b6  a  fit  recipi- 
ent for  fairy  bounty,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  If 
I  met  a  prince,  arrayed  in  the  traditional  green 
and  gold  hunting-suit,  riding  along  just  now, 
I  should  be  more  inclined  to  doff  my  hat  ia 
salute,  than  to  offer  him  charity." 

"  I  am  stupid,  I  suppose,"  said  Nina,  "  but 
I  don't  see  the  force  of  the  comparison.  How 
am  /like  the  prince,  or  how  would  the  fairies 
be  like  you?  " 

"  The  fairies  would  only  be  like  me  inas- 
much as,  meeting  you,  they  would  probably 
say,  '  She  was  born  on  our  festival,  but  what 
can  we  bestow  on  her  now  that  was  not  be- 
stowed at  her  birth  ?  She  has  beauty,  wit, 
wealth,  the  charm  to  win  and  to  keep  love — 
what  more  can  we  give,  with  all  our  pow- 
er?'" 

"That  is  very  pretty,"  said  Nina,  coldly; 
"  but  you  see  the  fairies — if  they  were  fairies 
— would  know  better  than  that.  Instead  of 
paying  me  empty  compliments,  they  would 
know  that  there  is  a  great  deal  they  could 
give — for  which  I  should  be  very  thankful." 

"  I  suppose  nobody  is  ever  entirely  pleased 
with  his  lot  in  hfe,"  said  Martindale,  philo- 
sophically, "  but  I  should  have  been  tempted 
to  suppose  that  if  anybody  ever  is  satisfied, 
it  might  have  been  yourself." 

"  Whom  you  have  known  since  eleven 
o'clock  this  morning!"  said  she,  with  a 
laugh.  "  Do  you  usually  decide  upon  peo- 
ple's 'lot  in  life'  so  promptly,  Mr.  Martin- 
dale ?  If  so,  you  must  possess  either  excep- 
tional powers  of  judgment,  or  exceptional 
confidence  in  your  own  acuteness." 

The  mockery  of  her  tone  pleased  rather 
than  provoked  her  listener.  He  laughed  a 
little  himself  as  he  turned  in  his  saddle  and 
looked  at  her,  admiring  the  graceful,  stately 
figure — Nina  was  "  a  woman  with  a  presence  " 
— the  bright  face  vivid  with  color,  the  lovely 
eyes  full  of  malicious  amusement.  "  How 
pretty  she  is  ! "  he  thought,  "  and  what  a 
spice  of  the  devil  she  has  ! " 

"  It  does  not  follow  that  I  possess  cither 
exceptional  powers  of  judgment  or  excep- 
tional confidence  in  my  own  acuteness,  be- 
cause I  have  been  able  to  read  at  first  sight 
some  features  of  your  life,"  he  said  aloud. 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


"  I  should  be  blind  as  well  as  dull  if  I  did 
not  read  them.'' 

"  It  does  not  follow  that,  because  you 
have  read  you  have  understood,"  said  she, 
falling  into  his  trap  with  a  facility  that  grati- 
fied him. 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  true,"  said  he. 
"  It  does  not,  of  course,  follow  that,  because 
I  have  read,  I  have  understood  ;  but  neither 
does  it  follow  that,  because  I  have  read,  I 
have  not  understood." 

"  And  yet,"  said  she,  with  another  laugh — 
this  time  a  little  bitter — "you  think  my  life 
so  perfect  that,  if  I  were  to  meet  a  fairy  at 
this  moment,  there  is  nothing  she  could  pos- 
sibly need  to  give  me  !  " 

"Nay,"  said  he — and  in  the  deep,  wood- 
land stillness  through  which  they  were  riding, 
iiis  voice  seemed  full  of  a  sudden  expression 
which  thrilled  her — "  I  did  not  mean  to  im- 
ply that  your  life  was  per.'"ect.  I  said  that 
you  had  many  gifts — it  is  true,  is  it  not  ? — 
but  one  may  lack  as  well  as  possess.  Indeed, 
in  lacking  some  things,  one  I'acks  all  things ; 
and  content  is  one  of  them." 

It  wns  a  shrewd  guess,  and  one  which 
made  Nina  flush  up  to  her  temples — angry 
witli  him  for  speaking  so  plainly,  angry  with 
herself  for  having  betrayed  so  much. 

"  I  fancy  content  is  one  of  the  things 
wliich  we  all  lack,"  said  she,  trying  to  answer 
indifferently.  "All  of  us  find  monotony  un- 
pleasant, all  of  us  think  that  we  should  like 
to  season  our  lives  with  a  little  more  spice. 
Color,  zest,  perfume,  as  the  French  say — some 
of  our  lives  lack  all  of  these  things  horribly  ; 
but  probably, they  will  go  on  lacking  them  to 
the  end." 

"  Why  should  they  ?  "  he  asked — adding, 
as  he  turned  and  looked  at  him,  "  you  must 
pardon  me  if  I  say  that  some  people  are  born 
for  a  groove,  but  you  are  not  one  of  them." 

"  IIow  do  you  know  what  I  was  born  for  ?  " 
asked  Nina,  curtly.  "  I  did  not  say  I  was  not 
very  well  satisfied  with  my  life.  At  least " 
(shrugging  her  shoulders  slightly),  "if  I  were 
not  willing  to  live  always  at  Wyverne,  I 
should  scarcely  be  engaged  to  marry  with 
Kalph." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  to  live  always  at 
Wyverne  will  satisfy  you  in  the  future,  even 
though  it  may"— a  doubtful  accent  here— 
"  have  done  so  in  the  past  ?  " 

She  laughed  —  a  slightly  forced  effort. 
There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  the  ques- 


tion, as  well  as  in  the  intent  gaze  of  the  brown 
eyes  looking  at  her,  which  made  her  a  little 
nervous.  They  were  riding  just  then  through 
a  ravine,  where  a  green,  dusky  gloaming, 
inexpressibly  full  of  fantastic  suggestions, 
reigned.  If  she  had  doue  what  was  wise,  if 
she  had  even  doue  what  instinct  prompted, 
she  would  have  waived  the  question  which 
Martindale  had  no  possible  right  to  ask. 
But  a  sudden,  reckless  impulse  made  her  an- 
swer it  in  words  which  she  was  afterward 
destined  to  remember  and  repent. 

"  Are  you  a  fairy  ?  "  she  said.  "  Fairies 
sometimes  come  under  strange  disguises. 
Have  you  the  power  to  spirit  me  away  from 
Wyverne  if  I  should  confess  that  its  monot- 
ony has  grown  almost  intolerable  to  me  ?  " 

"  This  is  Midsummer  -  Day,"  and  fairies, 
as  you  say,  come  under  strange  disguises 
sometimes.  If  you  would  believe  in  me,  there 
is  no  telling  what  I  might  not  do.  I  might 
even  spirit  you  away  to  a  world  where  you 
would  be  happy.  But,  in  all  ages,  enchanters 
have  demanded  trust." 

"  Which  I  am  not  ready  to  give,"  said 
Nina,  feeling  that  this  had  gone  too  far.  It 
was  pleasant — it  had  a  flavor  of  that  spice 
which  she  desired — but  still  she  felt  that  Mr. 
Martindale's  glances  and  Mr.  Martindale's 
tones  would  not  have  elicited  Ralph's  appro- 
bation, if  he  had  seen  or  heard  them ;  and, 
foolish  and  reckless  though  she  was,  the  girl 
meant  to  be  honest,  after  a  somewhat  blun- 
dering and  indefinite  fashion. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  give  it  after  a  time," 
the  would-be  enchanter  said,  quietly.  "  Mean- 
while, I  should  like  you  to  remember  that  our 
lives  are  what  we  make  them.'''' 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  she,  scornfully. 
"  Or,  if  it  is  true  at  all,  it  is  true  only  of  men 
— never  of  women.     Circumstances  make  us." 

"  That  is  only  because  you  do  not  know 
how  to  take  advantage  of  them,"  said  he, 
coolly. 

But  this  provoked  Nina,  who  knew  how 
arbitrary  the  circumstances  of  her  life  had 
been. 

"  You  only  say  so  because  you  iiave  never 
known  what  they  really  are,"  she  retorted. 
"  I  agree  with  the  writer  who  said  that  if  a 
letter  were  written  to  Circumstances,  and  sub- 
scribed '  Your  obedient  servant,'  the  vast  ma- 
jority of  mankind  could  sign  it  with  tlie 
greatest  truthfulness." 

"It  is  certainly  true  that  wo  are  often  in- 


8 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


debted  to  them  for  some  very  good  gifts," 
said  he.  "  It  hung,  for  instance,  on  a  turn 
of  chance,  yesterday,  whether  or  not  I  should 
come  down  here  with  Ralph.  If  I  had  not 
done  so — " 

"  You  would  have  been  spared  the  neces- 
sity of  blasting  poor  Ralph's  hopes  about  his 
cherished  '  idea,'  "  said  Nina,  laughing. 

He  started.  "  Have  I  blasted  his  hopes  ?  " 
he  asked.  Then  he,  too,  laughed  a  little — 
not  a  pleasant  laugh,  the  girl  thought. 
"Such  hopes  are  easily  revived  again,"  he 
said.  "  There  is  nothing  on  earth  so  hard  to 
kill  as  an  inventor's  fancy." 

Something  in  his  tone,  as  well  as  in  his 
laugh,  struck  Nina  unpleasantly,  but  she  did 
not  answer — perhaps  because  they  emerged, 
just  then,  out  of  the  dusky  forest  to  an  open 
space,  where  they  saw 

"  The  flower-like  sunset  shed  its  mystic  blooms  " 

over  the  broad  fields,  the  shadowy  woods,  a 
winding  road  in  the  distance  where  some  cat- 
tle lingered,  green  hills  near  at  hand  melting 
into  blue  ones  afar  off,  valleys  bright  with 
streams  which  caught  the  reflection  of  the 
gorgeous  west,  and  purple  hollows  where 
night  seemed  already  to  have  gathered. 
There  were  few  sounds  to  break  the  stillness 
— only  the  soft  music  of  falling  water,  the 
distant  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell,  the  note  of  a 
mocking-bird,  or  the  coo  of  a  wood-pigeon. 

"  Is  it  not  lovely  ?  "  Nina  said,  leaning  her 
elbow  on  the  pommel  of  her  saddle  and  her 
cheek  on  her  hand. 

"  Yery  lovely  ! "  her  companion  answered, 
and  something  in  his  tone  made  her  glance 
quickly  round.  Then  she  saw  that  he  was 
looking,  not  at  the  sunset  scene,  but  at  her- 
self. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  The  moon  has  not  risen  yet,  Nina,"  said 
Ralph,  "  but  the  starlight  is  beautiful.  Shall 
we  go  out  and  see  if  wc  can  find  the  elfin 
folk  ?  " 

Tea  was  over,  and  they  were  gathered  in  the 
drawing-room — all  somewhat  dull  and  some- 
what stiff" — when  he  made  this  proposal.  Mrs. 
Wyverne  was  crocheting  by  the  shaded  lamp, 
round  which  a  few  moths  were  circling ;  Mr. 
Wyverne  was  prosing  to  Martindale,  who 
looked  as  much  bored  as  a  vrell-bred  man 
ever  permits   himself  to  appear;  Nina  had 


been  singing,  but  she  rose  from  the  piano, 
and,  walking  to  one  of  the  large,  open  win- 
dows, stood  looking  wistfully  out,  when  Ralph 
spoke. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  eagerly.  "  Let  us 
go  on  the  terrace.  If  we  don't  find  Queen 
Titania  and  her  court,  we  shall,  at  least,  find 
freshness  and  coolness." 

*'  Martindale,  will  you  come  ?  "  said  Ralph, 
raising  his  voice;  and  he  did  not  understand 
why  Nina  frowned  so  quickly  and  sharply  at 
the  words. 

"  You  will  find  me  on  the  terrace,"  she 
said  ;  and,  stepping  through  the  window,  she 
walked  away — a  tall,  straight,  white-clad  fig- 
ure, soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  starlit  gloom. 

Martindale  left  Mr.  "Wyverne  with  a  scarce- 
ly intelligible  excuse,  and  crossed  the  room. 

"  Where  is  it  you  wish  to  go  ?  "  he  said  to 
Ralph,  who  was  standing  with  a  rather  blank 
expression  of  countenance  where  he  had  been 
left. 

"  Only  out  on  the  terrace  for  some  fresh 
air,"  the  other  answered.  "  Will  you  come? 
It  is  very  warm,  and  not  particularly  enter- 
taining, in  here." 

"  Is  that  where  Miss  Dalzell  has  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes.     She  said  we  would  find  her  there." 

"  Lead  on,"  said  Martindale,  cheerfully. 
"  One  certainly  does  prefer  to  enjoy  summer 
nights  alfresco.'''' 

They  stepped  out  of  the  window  and 
walked  around  the  terrace  for  some  distance, 
but  they  found  no  sign  of  Nina.  The  moon, 
as  Ralph  had  said,  was  not  yet  risen,  but  the 
soft,  clear  starlight  rendered  all  immediate 
objects  sufficiently  distinct.  It  was  one  of 
those  glowing,  brilliant  nights  which  only 
midsummer  gives,  the  purple  skies  ablaze 
with  radiance  arching  from  horizon  to  hori- 
zon, the  earth  dark,  fragrant,  full  of  mystery, 
yet  touched  with  a  tender,  delicate  lustre. 

"Nina  must  have  gone  down  into  the  gar- 
den," Ralph  said,  after  a  while. 

"  Never  mind  Miss  Dalzell  just  now," 
Martindale  responded,  in  rather  a  peculiar 
voice.  "We  will  find  her  in  a  moment. 
Meanwhile,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you 
about — that  idea  of  yours.  Perhaps  I  was  a 
little  hasty  in  what  I  told  you  this  morning. 
I  have  been  thinking  it  over  since  then.  I 
should  like  to  examine  your  notes  again. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  it  may  be  possible  to  per- 
fect it." 

He  spoke  awkwardly  and  constrainedly — • 


NIXA'S   ATONEMENT. 


like  a  man  who  was  not  certain  how  much  he 
wished  to  say  or  leave  unsaid — but  Kalph  was 
too  full  of  delighted  surprise  to  notice  or  at- 
tach any  significance  to  his  manner. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  answered,  eagerly, 
"  you  cannot  tell  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you 
say  that !  I  am  a  fool,  I  suppose,  but  I  have 
dreamed  and  experimented  over  that  idea  so 
long,  that  it  went  hard  with  me  when  you  said 
it  was  impracticable.  I  know  that  I  have  ut- 
terly failed  in  working  it  out ;  but  I  am  only 
a  dabbler  in  chemistry.  If  you  take  it  in 
hand,  now — " 

"  I  may  fail  as  completely  as  you  have 
done,"  Martindale  interrupted,  shortly  and 
almost  sternly.  "  You  must  not  hope  any 
thing  from  my  experiments — at  least,  not 
much.  I  am  only  a  dabbler,  and  an  erratic 
one,  myself.  Still,  I  will  take  the  idea,  and 
try  to  work  it  out,  if  you  say  so." 

"  Of  course  I  say  so  ! "  Wyverne  said,  with 
a  ring  of  enthusiasm  in  his  tone  which  his 
companion  knew  well.  He  had  heard  it  in 
the  voices  of  others,  and  in  bis  own,  many 
times.  It  was  a  token  of  the  fever  which 
science  can  beget  as  well  as  art.  "  You  can- 
not tell  how  infinitely  I  shall  hold  myself  your 
debtor,"  Ralph  went  on ;  "  and,  if  you  succeed, 
there  is  a  fortune  in  it  for  both  of  us." 

"  Nature  is  certainly  a  royal  paymistress," 
said  the  other  ;  "  but  I  have  told  you  not  to 
hope  for  success.  Honestly,  I  think  I  shall 
fail,  but  I  cannot  be  content  until  I  have  fairly 
tested  the  idea,  now  that  you  have  put  it  into 
my  head." 

"  It  is  a  good  idea,"  said  Ralph,  "  I  al- 
ways knew  that.  And  if  we  succeed  in  work- 
ing it  out — " 

"But  it  will  require  time,"  the  other  in- 
terrupted again.  "  You  must  remember  that. 
You  must  be  prepared  for  labor,  for  failure, 
and  for  discouragements.  No  great  discov- 
ery was  ever  perfected  without  all  of  these." 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,"  said  Ralph,  "  and  if 
you  give  me  a  grain  of  hope,  no  labor  and 
discouragements  can  daunt  me.  As  for  time, 
it  is  all  before  us — at  least,  as  much  of  it  as 
you  can  spare.  I  am  to  be  married  next 
month,"  said  he,  laughing  a  little,  "  but  that 
need  not  interfere  with  our  experiments  to 
any  great  extent." 

"  You  are  to  be  married  next  month,  are 
you  ?  "  said  Martindale,  starting.  "  So  soon 
as  that  ?  " 

"There  is  no  need  for  delay,"  answered 


Ralph.  "  I  have  no  fancy  for  a  long  engage- 
ment. Besides,  in  this  instance,  there  would 
be  no  sense  in  it.  Neither  Nina  nor  I  have 
any  thing  for  which  to  wait." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Martindale,  absently. 

He  said  nothing  more,  and,  having  now 
paced  the  entire  length  of  the  terrace,  they 
descended  a  flight  of  stone  steps  which  led 
down  into  the  garden — a  dim,  mysterious  re- 
gion, full  of  white  paths,  the  dark  outlines 
of  shrubs,  trim,  old-fashioned  borders,  and 
many  sweet-smelling  flowers,  filling  the  sum- 
mer night  with  incense.  "  What  a  charming 
place  ! "  Martindale  exclaimed. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  has  become  of 
Nina,"  said  Ralph,  peering  about  through  the 
shades. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  asked  his  companion,  as 
a  white  figure  slowly  moved  across  the  path, 
some  distance  ahead  of  them,  and  vanished 
behind  a  hedge. 

"I  did  not  see,"  said  Ralph.  "Was  it 
Nina  ?     Which  way  did  she  go  ?  " 

The  other  answered  by  indicating  the  di- 
rection, and,  when  they  reached  the  intersect- 
ing path  along  which  the  figure  had  passed, 
they  turned  and  followed  it. 

But  they  found  no  sign  of  the  girl  whom 
they  were  seeking.  "  She  must  have  gone 
back  to  the  house,"  Ralph  said,  after  a  while, 
taking  out  his  cigar-case,  and  offering  it  to 
his  companion.  "There  is  no  need  that  we 
should  go,"  he  added.  "  It  is  cooler  out 
here." 

Martindale,  however,  had  not  come  into 
the  garden  to  smoke  a  cigar,  and  talk  chemi- 
cal "  shop."  He  declined  thfl  ^rst  by  a  gest- 
ure, and  was  on  the  point  of  cutting  short 
the  latter  by  saying  that  he,  too,  would  return 
to  the  house,  when  a  turn  of  the  path  sud- 
denly brought  them  in  sight  of  a  building 
the  outlines  of  which  cut  sharply  against  the 
purple,  starry  sky. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  asked,  carelessly. 

"  It  is  an  old-fashioned  summer-house," 
Ralph  answered.  "  You  see  every  thing  here 
is  old-fashioned.  This  is  one  of  the  pavil- 
ions in  which  our  grandmothers  used  to  take 
a  sociable  dish  of  coffee.  It  is  not  very  orna- 
mental when  you  see  it  in  daylight ;  but,  for 
the  sake  of  old  association,  my  father  has  let 
it  stay.  It  leaks,  and  the  roof  gave  symptoms 
of  falling  in,  the  last  I  heard  of  it,  however." 

"  It  is  not  ugly,"  said  a  quiet  voice,  which 
startled  them  both  as   it  spoke  out  of  the 


10 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


shadow  of  the  building  tbcy  had  now  ap- 
proached, "  It  is  so  prettily  covered  with 
ivy.  Put  out  your  hand,  Mr.  Martindale,  and 
you  can  feel  the  leaves." 

"  Is  it  you,  Nina — or  a  fairy  ?  "  Ralph 
said,  putting  out  his  hand  and  touching  the 
white  figure,  which  they  now  discerned,  sitting 
on  a  flight  of  steps  that  led  from  the  door 
of  the  summer-house  to  the  ground. 

"  Are  fairies  ever  so  large  ?  "  asked  Nina, 
laughing,  and  she  rose  as  she  spoke.  Despite 
the  discrepancy  of  size,  both  the  young  men 
thought  that  there  was  something  elfin-like 
in  the  graceful,  swaying  figure,  as  it  emerged 
from  the  deeper  shadows  into  the  soft  star- 
light. "If  the  summer-house  is  old-fash- 
ioned, it  is  very  pleasant,"  she  went  on,  turn- 
ing to  Martindale.  "  I  come  and  sit  in  here 
ol'tcn.     See !  it  is  a  regular  house." 

She  mounted  the  steps  and  pushed  open  a 
door,  as  she  spoke.  Martindale  followed  her, 
and,  being  a  smoker,  soon  found  a  match  in 
his  pocket,  with  which  he  struck  a  light.  By 
this  short-lived  illumination  he  saw  that  they 
were  in  a  pavilion  somewhat  on  the  Dutch 
model — a  "  regular  house,"  as  Nina  had  said, 
with  two  doors  and  two  casements,  also  a 
table  and  chair  bearing  token  to  recent  oc- 
cupation. "  One  could  be  very  comfortable 
here,"  he  said,  reflectively.  Then,  as  the 
match  went  out,  leaving  them  in  darkness,  he 
turned  to  Ralph. 

"  Wyverne,"  he  said,  "  I  wonder  you  have 
never  made  this  into  a  laboratory.  It  is  true 
it  is  not  so  convenient  as  your  room  in  the 
house,  but  you  would  be  more  at  ease  in 
your  experiments ;  and  when  such  things  as 
explosions  occur,  nobody's  nerves  need  be 
jarred."  ' 

"More  at  ease  in  his  experiments!"  said 
Nina,  quickly,  before  Ralph  could  speak. 
"But  we  are  done  with  all  such  tiresome 
things  as  those.  Ralph  is  not  going  to  worry 
over  chemistry  any  more,  since  you  have  told 
him  that  his  idea  is  impracticable — are  you, 
Ralph  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  say  yes,  Ninetta," 
answered  Ralph,  with  a  laugh,  half  pleased, 
half  ashamed.  "  Martindale  has  retracted  his 
severe  judgment  on  my  poor  idea — at  least, 
he  thinks  there  is  a  chance  for  it,  and  of 
course  I  am  anxious  that  he  should  put  this 
chance  to  the  test." 

"  A  chance  for  it ! "  repeated  Nina,  and 
there  was  a  sudden  jarring  quiver  in  her  voice. 


"  Pray  when  did  Mr.  Martindale  discover 
this  fact  ?  "  she  asked,  after  a  moment.  "  You 
certainly  told  me  before  dinner — " 

"  I  remember  what  I  told  you  before  din- 
ner," said  Ralph,  "but  since  we  came  out  of 
the  house,  Martindale  has  told  ?)ie  that  he  was 
too  hasty,  and  that  there  may  be  some  hope 
for  me  after  all." 

He  spoke  lightly,  as  if  he  were  more 
amused  than  concerned  by  her  possible  vexa- 
tion— but  he  was  not  exactly  prepared  for  the 
answer  that  came. 

"  Mr.  Martindale  seems  to  know  his  own 
mind  very  little,"  said  Nina,  coldly.  "  Of 
course  the  experiments  and  every  thing  con- 
nected with  them  are  your  own  affair,  Ralph  ; 
but  I  confess  that,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I 
should  feel  very  little  confidence  in  the  opin- 
ion of  a  person  who  contradicts  himself  in 
the  most  positive  manner  within  the  space  of 
a  few  hours." 

"  You  don't  understand,  Nina,"  said  Ralph. 
He  was  astonished,  and  for  the  moment  al- 
most angry.  He  was  well  aware  that  his  ex- 
periments did  not  please  this  arbitrary  young  * 
princess,  but  he  had  not  expected  that  her 
resentment  would  extend  to  one  whose  only 
fault  had  been  that  of  encouraging  him. 
"  You  don't  understand,"  he  repeated.  "  Mar- 
tindale has  thought  the  matter  over,  and, 
on  consideration,  changed  his  mind  far  enough 
to  think  that  the  idea  may  be  worth  testing. 
That  is  all." 

"  I  thought  that  changing  one's  mind  was 
a  frivolous  thing  only  fit  for  women,"  said 
Nina.     "  Are  chemists  subject  to  it  also  ?  " 

"  It  is  like  discontent,  inasmuch  as  we 
are  all  subject  to  it  more  or  less,  I  fancy," 
said  Martindale,  quietly. 

Then  there  was  a  pause.  They  were  stand- 
ing in  darkness,  for  the  faint  ghmmer  which 
the  stars  sent  through  the  casements  was 
only  sufficient  to  show  the  vague  outline  of 
Nina's  white  dress.  Voices  have  a  certain 
intensified  meaning  at  such  a  time.  When 
our  observation  is  not  distracted  by  any  play 
of  feature  or  expression  of  glance,  we  appre- 
ciate the  wonderful  organ  of  human  speech 
as  it  deserves ;  our  ears  seem  more  finely 
strung,  our  attention  is  more  concentrated, 
and  catch  many  subtle  inflections  which,  in 
the  light  of  day,  escape  our  notice.  Even 
when  Martindale  spoke  after  a  minute  to 
Ralph,  his  voice  had  still  a  cadence  of  signifi- 
cance under  its  commonplace  words. 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


11 


"  Tlie  experiments  will  only  require  a 
trifling  outlay  of  time  and  labor,"  he  said, 
"and  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  this  pavil- 
ion is  excellently  adapted  to  our  purpose  as 
a  laboratory.  I  should  not  imagine  that 
many  repairs  were  needed,  and  the  chemical 
apparatus  can  easily  be  removed." 

"It  is  a  capital  idea,"  said  Ralph.  "I 
wonder  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  That 
room  I  have  in  the  house  is  very  inconvenient. 
As  you  say,  few  repairs  are  needed  here.  I 
will  send  for  Jackson  to-morrow,  and  let  him 
look  at  it.  Nina,  do  these  doors  latch  ?  I 
must  ride  over  to  Elkbridge  for  some  locks." 

"Is  it  the  transmutation  of  metals  that 
you  have  in  hand  ?  "  asked  Nina,  in  her  scorn- 
ful voice.  "  If  not,  I  don't  think  you  need 
guard  your  treasures  so  vigilantly.  Nobody 
is  likely  to  steal  them." 

"  But  somebody  might  be  injured  by 
them,"  said  Ralph,  gravely.  "  Many  of  my 
chemicals  are  deadly  poisons.  It  is  always 
safest  to  guard  against  accidents." 

"  You  may  at  least  be  sure  that  /  shall 
never  trouble  them,"  said  she,  turning  away 
and  walking  towai'd  the  door. 

The  movement  was  so  abrupt,  that  the 
two  young  men  hesitated  a  moment  whether 
or  not  to  follow. 

"  We  have  seen  all  that  can  be  seen  in 
such  a  light  as  this — don't  you  think  we'd  bet- 
ter go  ?  "  said  Ralph,  after  a  second,  in  a  tone 
of  carelessness  a  trifle  studied. 

"  I  think  I'll  explore  the  garden  a  little 
further,"  the  other  answered.  "May  I  trou- 
ble you  for  the  cigar  you  offered  a  while  ago  ? 
Thanks  !  make  my  excuses  to  your  cousin,  if 
any  excuses  are  necessary.  If  I  am  back  in 
the  drawing-room  within  an  hour,  it  will  be 
time  enough  to  say  good-night,  will  it  not  ?  " 

"  Quite  time  enough,"  Ralph  replied. 
He  said  nothing  more,  and   Martindale — 
having  lighted  his  cigar — marched  out  of  the 
pavilion  by   a   door   opposite  that   through 
which  Miss  Dalzell  had  disappeared. 

That  young  lady  was  strolling  slowly  along 
a  path  which  led  toward  the  house,  when  her 
cousin  overtook  her.  She  was  surprised  to 
see  him  alone,  and,  before  she  remembered 
the  superior  dignity  of  silence,  had  asked, 
"  Where  is  Mr.  Martindale  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  off  to  smoke  a  cigar,"  Ralph 
answered.  "  I  suppose  he  thought  it  the  best 
way  of  relieving  you  of  his  society  I  really 
think,  Nina,"  this  mildest  of  future  husbands 


ventured  to  add,  "  that  you  might  treat  a  man 
who  is  at  once  my  friend  and  my  guest  a  little 
more  courteously." 

"  Kave  I  treated  Mr.  Martindale  with  any 
want  of  courtesy  ?  "  asked  Nina,  haughtily. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  being  taken  to 
task  by  anybody,  but  least  of  all  by  Ralph. 

"  You  have  certainly  treated  him  with 
very  great  want  of  courtesy,"  Wyverne  an- 
swered, firmly.  "  You  were  absolutely  rude 
in  what  you  said  a  little  while  ago — and  all 
because  the  poor  fellow  has  encouraged  me 
in  the  chemical  pursuits  for  which  you  have 
such  an  aversion  !  " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Nina.  She  did 
not  speak  angrily  as  he  had  expected,  but 
quite  gravely.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  she  re- 
peated, after  a  moment.  "  If  I  have  been  rude 
to  Mr.  Martindale,  it  was  not  because  he  has 
encouraged  you  in  your  chemical  pursuits, 
but  because  I  do  not  think  he  is  sincere  in 
doing  so !  I  do  not  think  that  he  has  any 
better  opinion  of  your  idea  now  than  he  had 
before  dinner." 

"  But  what  possible  reason  have  you  for 
thinking  such  a  thing  ? "  asked  Ralph,  sur- 
prised and  displeased. 

"I  can  scarcely  tell  you,"  said  she,  stop- 
ping short  and  looking  at  him.  "  I  know 
you  think  I  am  prejudiced,"  she  added,  "  but 
I  had  an  instinct  the  moment  I  looked  at  him 
that  he  was  not  to  be  trusted.  Ralph  " — she 
put  out  her  hand  suddenly  and  laid  it  on  his 
arm — "  make  your  experiments  yourself,  and  I 
will  never  say  a  word  about  them  again — • 
never !  But  don't  give  this  man  an  excuse 
for  staying  an  hour  longer  than  you  can  help, 
at  Wyverne  House  !  " 

"  Nina,  you  astonish  me  ! "  said  Ralph — 
which  was  certainly  true.  "I  had  no  idea 
you  could  be  so  prejudiced  and  so  unjust ! 
How  can  you  fancy  that  you,  who  have  known 
Martindale  only  a  few  hours,  can  possibly 
judge  of  his  character  better  than  I  who  have 
known  him  for  years  ?  " 

"  I  don't  fancy  it,"  said  Nina.  "  I  know 
nothing  about  his  character — I  don't  care  to 
know  any  thing.  I  only  feel  that  he  is  not  to 
be  trusted,  and  I  wish  you  would  send  him 
away," 

"  Send  him  away  !  Send  away  a  man  who 
is  my  guest,  because  you  have  an  idea  that 
he  is  not  to  be  trusted  !"  said  Ralph,  quite 
aghast.  "  Nina,  are  you  crazy,  to  ask  such  a 
thing  ?  " 


13 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


"  No,  I  am  not  crazy,  but  you  will  be  sor- 
ry if  you  do  not  heed  me  '.  "  said  Nina,  with  a 
sudden,  passionate  meaning  in  her  voice  which 
made  her  cousin  fear  that  she  really  was  dis- 
traught. "  I  am  sure  of  that,  Ralph,  You 
will  be  sorry  if  you  do  not  heed  me  !  " 

"  Wiiy  should  I  be  sorry  ?  "  demanded 
Ralph.  "Such  prejudice  is  not  only  absurd, 
but  really  beneath  you,  Nina.  Can  you  not 
see  that  there  is  no  reason  in  it  ?  No  man  is 
deceitful  without  a  motive.  Now,  what  mo- 
tive could  Martindale  possibly  have  for  de- 
ceiving me  about  my  idea  ?  " 

"Do  you  always  distrust  an  effect  when 
you  don't  know  the  cause  of  it  ? "  asked 
Nina. 

"When  an  effect  is  alleged,  for  which 
there  is  no  adequate  cause,  I  doubt  its  exist- 
ence assuredly,"  he  answered. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and,  taking  her 
hand  from  his  arm,  gathered  up  the  folds  of  her 
muslin  dress,  which  she  had  suffered  to  fall 
unheeded  on  the  dewy  path. 

"  It  is  no  affair  of  mine,"  she  said.  "  Of 
course  you  will  do  as  you  please ;  but  I  have 
warned  you.  You  may  be  sorry  yet  that  you 
have  not  heeded  my  warning,  foolish  as  you 
think  it.  I  distrust  the  man  and  every  thing 
about  him,"  she  went  on,  with  a  certain  re- 
pressed vehemence.  "  Ralph,  you  may  think 
me  absurdly  superstitious,  but  when  he  first 
turned  to  you  and  spoke  of  converting  the 
summer-house  into  a  laboratory,  something 
in  his  manner,  in  his  tone — I  cannot  tell  you 
what  it  was — made  that  sudden  cold  thrill 
come  over  me  which  people  are  said  to  feel 
when  standing  on  the  place  where  they  will 
die." 

"  I  do,  indeed,  think  that  you  are  absurd- 
ly superstitious,"  said  Ralph,  trying  to  speak 
lightly,  for  even  by  the  dim  light  of  the  stars 
he  saw  that  she  was  shivering  violently ; 
"  but  I  think  the  best  remedy  will  be  to  go 
into  the  house  and  try  to  forget  all  this.  It 
is  thorough  nonsense,  and  you  will  like  Mar- 
tindale as  much  as  I  do  when  you  come  to 
know  him.     I  am  sure  of  that !  " 

"Are  you?"  said  Nina.  She  did  not 
speak  sarcastically,  as  she  had  done  in  the 
morning,  but  half  dreamily.  Then  she  turned, 
without  saying  any  thing  more,  and  walked 
with  him  to  the  house. 

The  next  day  Ralph  went  eagerly  to  work 
with  the  repairs  necessary  for  convertrng  the 
garden   pavilion  into  a  laboratory.      Before 


breakfast  he  had  sent  for  the  best  carpenter 
on  the  plantation,  and  held  a  consultation 
with  him  in  front  of  the  edifice  in  question — 
a  consultation  which  greatly  excited  the  sur- 
prise of  Mr.  Wyverne,  who  observed  it  while 
he  was  dressing,  and,  as  soon  as  he  was  in  a 
condition  to  emerge  from  his  chamber,  sallied 
down  into  the  garden  to  demand  an  explana- 
tion from  his  son.  To  say  that  he  was  dis- 
gusted with  tlie  explanation,  would  be  to  say 
very  little.  He  did  not  express  this  disgust 
to  any  great  extent,  however,  because  he  was 
a  reasonable  man,  in  the  first  place,  and  a 
man  of  few  words,  in  the  second.  Ralph  was 
old  enough  to  know  what  he  was  about,  and, 
if  he  had  a  fancy  to  make  a  fool  of  himself,  it 
was  nobody's  business  but  his  own.  That 
was  Mr.  Wyverne's  view  of  the  matter.  As 
for  Ralph,  he  had  not  expected  any  encour- 
agement; so  the  lack  of  it  did  not  depress 
him.  Nothing  but  good-natured  tolerance, 
largely  flavored  with  ridicule,  had  ever  been 
given  by  the  domestic  world  to  his  scientific 
experiments  ;  and  he  looked  for  nothing  else. 
Sympathy  and  encouragement  would  have 
surprised  him  as  much  as  any  attempt  at 
arbitrary  interference.  Mr.  Wyverne  gave  a 
long  whistle  when  he  heard  for  what  purpose 
the  summer-house  was  to  be  repaired.  "  I 
hope  you  will  finish  the  business  in  two 
days,"  he  said.  "I  can't  spare  Jackson 
longer.  After  all,  perhaps  it  is  a  good  idea. 
If  you  blow  this  up,  it  will  be  no  great  loss." 
Blowing  up  was,  in  the  minds  of  the  family  at 
Wyverne,  a  necessary  result  of  all  chemical 
investigation. 

It  was  more  than  two  days,  however,  be- 
fore the  necessary  repairs  to  the  summer- 
house  were  finished,  or  before  Jackson  was 
allowed  to  return  to  the  neglected  plantation- 
work  over  which  Mr.  Wyverne  chafed.  Ralph 
might  have  chafed  himself,  if  it  had  been  any 
thing  but  his  own  crotchet  which  delayed  the 
completion  of  certain  desirable  and  more  im- 
portant buildings  ;  but  just  now  the  chemist 
had  a  decided  advantage  over  the  planter, 
and  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  his  ex- 
periments. There  was,  of  course,  more  to  be 
done  to  the  pavilion  than  he  had  imagined  ; 
and,  since  he  had  what  Jackson  called  "his 
own  notion"  about  every  thing,  a  zealous 
superintendence  was  necessary,  for,  like  most 
people,  he  had  learned  to  his  cost  that  his 
own  notion  was  very  apt  to  be  disregarded 
unless  he  was  present  to  enforce  it.     It  fol- 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


13 


lowed  that  he  saw  very  little  of  anybody  but 
the  carpenters  during  these  days.  Not  that 
this  fact  mattered  very  much.  The  different 
members  of  the  household  went  their  accus- 
tomed ways,  and  Martindale — who  came  now 
.and  then  with  a  cigar  to  look  on  and  suggest 
an  alteration  or  improTement — did  not  seem 
to  be  suffering  from  the  acute  boredom  which 
his  friend  anticipated  for  him.  In  truth, 
Ealph  had  made  an  appeal  to  Nina  that  some- 
what averted  this  terrible  malady  from  its 
threatened  subject. 

"  Do  be  a  good  girl  and  entertain  Martin- 
dale  while  I  am  about  this  work,"  he  said. 
"  I  shall  really  take  it  as  a  personal  favor  if 
you  will.  What  is  to  become  of  the  poor 
fellow  I  don't  know,  he  is  so  little  used  to 
such  a  vegetating  life  as  the  one  we  lead." 

"  I  will  do  my  best  for  Mr.  Martindale's 
entertainment,  since  you  desire  it,"  Nina  an- 
swered, with  a  reluctance  upon  which  it  would 
have  been  difficult  for  any  one — perhaps  even 
for  herself — to  decide  whether  or  not  it  was 
genuine.  "  But  I  don't  like  him,  and  I  really 
wonder  it  never  occurred  to  you  that  other 
people  besides  Mr.  Martindale  might  find  our 
life  a  vegetation." 

'■  Ealph  says  that  I  am  to  entertain  you 
and  keep  you  from  being  bored  to  death," 
she  said  to  Martindale,  an  hour  or  two  later. 
"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  how  to  do  it.  I 
never  had  a  traveled  fine  gentleman  on  my 
hands  before,  and  the  novelty  threatens  to  be 
overwhelming." 

"  If  you  consider  me  a  traveled  fine  gen- 
tleman," answered  Martindale,  "it  proves 
conclusively  that  you  have  never  known  a 
Simon-pure  of  that  species,  I  am  the  farthest 
in  the  world  from  deserving  such  a  reproach, 
or  such  a  distinction — as  you  choose  to  con- 
sider it — and  I  am  the  most  easily-entertained 
person  in  the  world,  besides.  But  if  I  were 
as  exigeant  as  possible,  it  would  be  strange 
if  I  could  not  loiter  away  a  few  days  at  this 
delightful  old  place,  without  incurring  the 
penalty  of  ennui.  I  feel  like  a  traveler  who 
has  found  an  enchanted  castle  and  an  en- 
chanted princess,"  he  added,  smiling. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Nina — and  she  smiled 
also.  It  was  not  disagreeable  to  be  lik- 
ened to  an  enchanted  princess,  and  a  thrill 
of  that  pleasurable  excitement  which  she 
had  felt  when  they  were  riding  together 
through  the  summer  woods  came  over  her. 
At  such  moments,  the  instinct  of  distrust 
2 


which  she  felt  against  Martindale — it  never 
amounted  to  dislike,  though  it  sometimes 
amounted  to  repulsion — lost  its  force.  She 
saw  only  a  handsome  man,  full  of  the  je  ne 
sais  quoi  of  society,  who  looked  at  hor  with 
admiration,  and  spoke  to  her  with  compli- 
ments— a  man  who  seemed  to  bring  into  her 
life  a  breath  of  that  world  for  which  all  her 
eager  fancy,  all  her  overflowing,  sensuous  vi- 
tality longed. 

"But  the  knights  who  found  enchanted 
castles  usually  had  rather  a  hard  time  of  it, 
had  they  not  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  am  afraid  you 
have  chosen  your  comparison  unfortunately — 
which  is  too  bad,  when  you  meant  to  be  com- 
plimentary." 

"  They  foimd  the  princess,  however,"  he 
said,  "  and  that  made  amends  for  all  else. 
Dragons,  giants,  lions,  tyrants  —  all  were 
child's  play  when  compared  with  that  re- 
ward." 

"  Princesses  must  have  been  worth  a 
good  deal  in  those  days,"  said  Nina,  de- 
murely. 

"  Not  more  than  in  these,"  answered  Mar- 
tindale, readily.  "  The  trouble  now,  as  then, 
only  is — to  find  them." 

"  One  might  say  the  same  of  dragons  and 
unicorns,"  responded  Miss  Dalzell. 

"  Dragons  and  unicorns  were  mythical ; 
princesses  were  not,"  said  Martindale,  grave- 
ly. "  They  exist  now,  as  they  existed  then — 
and  one  finds  them  sometimes.  If  I  were 
fortunate  enough  to  do  so,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
should  tell  the  fair  captive  that,  according  to 
all  rules  of  romance  and  chivalry,  the  dis- 
coverer should  also  be  the  deliverer." 

"  Allow  me  to  remind  you  of  Mrs.  Glass's 
immortal  recipe  for  dressing  a  hare,"  said  Ni- 
na. "  First  find  your  princess,  then  decide 
what  you  will  say  to  her.  Not  but  that  it  is 
easy  enough  to  predicate  beforehand  what 
that  would  be,"  she  ended,  with  a  cool  shrug 
of  the  shoulders. 

"Is  it?"  said  he,  smiling.  "Tell  me, 
then,  what  it  would  be  ?  I  see  yoxi  are  well 
acquainted  v,-iih  the  ways  of  knights  and 
princesses." 

"  Knights  are  very  much  like  men  nowa- 
days, I  fancy,"  she  answered.  "  They  paid  a 
great  many  pretty  compliments  to  the  prin- 
cesses, who,  despite  the  fact  of  their  exalted 
rank,  resembled  other  foolish  country  maidens, 
anil,  perhaps,  were  silly  enough  to  believe 
them.     Then,  when  the  charm  of  novelty  was 


14 


NIXA'S  ATONEMENT. 


gone  from  these  fair  ladie?,  no  more  pretty- 
speeches  came,  the  knights,  as  a  rule,  found 
the  enchanted  castles  very  dull,  ordered  their 
horses  and  rode  away,  to  repeat  the  amuse- 
ment, '  with  variations,'  as  they  do  in  music, 
at  the  next  chateau.'^ 

"But  you  forget  that  some  women  never 
lose  the  charm  of  novelty,"  said  he.  "Some 
of  them  are  like  the  chameleon,  and  change 
■while  a  man  gazes.  You  remember  how  it 
was  written  of  one  woman  that  '  age  could 
not  wither  nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  va- 
riety.' " 

"  There  was  never  but  one  '  serpent  of 
old  Nile,'  however,"  said  Xina,  shaking  her 
head. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  not  remarkable  that 
Mr.  Martindale  bore  with  edifying  philosophy 
the  delay  about  the  laboratory.  It  was  cer- 
tainly more  agreeable  to  loiter  with  Xina  in 
the  drawing-room  or  garden  through  the 
long,  golden  hours  of  a  June  day,  than  to 
spend  the  same  hours  in  abstruse  calculations 
and  doubtful  experiments,  bending  over  chem- 
ical apparatus  and  chemical  books.  Ralph 
might  have  spared  his  anxiety  about  his 
friend,  if  he  had  only  known  how  very  well 
that  gentleman  was  "  entertained." 

Meanwhile  Xina,  unconsciously  to  herself, 
began  to  experience  something  of  that  subtle 
intoxication  which  the  fumes  of  flattery  soon 
produce  on  all  save  the  steadiest  brain.  This 
was  not  remarkable,  since  circumstances 
daily  threw  her  into  closer  intercourse  with 
Martindale,  and  the  repulsion  whicli  she  had 
at  first  felt  for  him  gradually  changed  into  an 
attraction  in  which  gratified  vanity  played  no 
inconsiderable  part.  Besides  vanity,  how- 
ever, there  was  also  the  freshness  of  novelty, 
the  glow  of  excitement,  and  that  thrill  of 
conscious  power  which,  to  many  women, 
makes  the  chief  fascination  of  that  danger- 
ous pastime  which  the  world  has  agreed  to 
call  flirtation.  It  was  unfortunate  that  there 
was  no  one  to  utter  a  warning,  or  extend  a  re- 
straint over  the  girl.  Ralph  was  busy  with 
his  pavilion,  and  thought  much  more  of  his 
chemical  researches  than  of  his  betrothed. 
Mrs.  Wyverne  was  essentially  a  house-keeping 
nonentity  ;  Mr.  Wyverne  never  regarded  the 
matter  at  all.  So,  X^ina  went  her  own  way, 
and  rode,  or  walked,  or  talked  with  the  hand- 
some stranger  without  a  word  of  rebuke,  or 
an  attempt  at  interference.  It  was  after  one 
of  these  rides — which  had  been  extended  far 


into  the  lovely  June  woods,  under  the  twilight 
June  stars — that,  having  come  home  and  laid 
aside  her  habit,  she  stood  before  her  mirror 
looking  with  critical  intentncss  at  the  exqui- 
site face,  illumined  with  light  and  vivid  with 
color,  which  gazed  back  at  her  out  of  the 
shadowy  depths  of  the  glass.  As  she  re- 
garded it,  a  bright  smile,  half  of  triumph, 
half  of  defiance,  curled  her  scarlet  lip. 

"  How  pretty  I  am  !  "  she  said.  "  It  is  no 
wonder  that  he  thinks  it  pleasant  to  amuse 
himself  with  me.  But  will  he  think  it  pleas- 
ant if  I  turn  the  tables  and  amuse  myself 
with  him  ?  It  is  only  a  game  of  skill  on  both 
sides,  and  promises  me  a  little  of  that  zest 
and  spice  which  my  life  lacks  so  horribly — a 
little  taste  of  that  power  which  is  said  to  be 
the  sweetest  draught  in  the  world !  Men  of 
this  class  are  not  troubled  with  hearts  to  lose 
or  break,  and  Ralph  would  not  be  jealous  if 
I  flirted  with  everybody  in  the  world !  What 
is  it  Thekla  says  ? — 

"  '  I  have  lived  and  loved,  but  that  was  to-day  ; 
Make  ready  my  grave-clothes  to-morrow.' 

Only  I  don't  mean  to  love,  whatever  else  I 
may  do,  and  it  is  not  my  grave-clothes,  but  my 
wedding-dress,  which  is  to  be  made  ready  to- 
morrow " 


CHAPTER  III. 

XoTWiTHSTAXDiMG  othcr  and  brighter  at- 
tractions, when  the  pavilion  was  at  last  fin- 
ished and  all  the  chemical  apparatus  removed 
thither  from  the  attic  laboratory,  Martindale 
betook  himself  to  the  experiments  with  an 
energy  which  pleased  Ralph  exceedingly,  and 
astonished  Xina  not  a  little.  The  latter  had 
so  unhesitatingly  made  up  her  mind  that  the 
young  chemist's  change  of  opinion  with  re- 
gard to  the  "idea"  of  her  cousin,  was  a 
piece  of  interested  hypocrisy  for  the  better 
prosecution  of  a  flirtation  with  herself,  that 
she  was  not  only  surprised,  but  very  much 
piqued,  by  the  prompt  desertion  of  her  stand- 
ard, which  took  place  as  soon  as  the  labora- 
tory was  in  good  working  order.  What  did 
it  mean?  she  asked,  a  little  indignantly.  Had 
she  indeed  overrated  her  consequence  so 
greatly  as  to  fancy  that  she  was  the  chief  at- 
traction that  detained  Martindale  at  Wy- 
verne, when  she  was,  in  truth,  only  the 
amusement  —  the  plaything  —  of  his  idle 
hours  ?     It  was  in  answering   this  question 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


15 


that  Nina's  natural  shrewdness  first  failed  to 
come  to  the  aid  of  her  inexperience.  A  duller 
woman,  who  knew  the  world,  would  have  un- 
derstood Martindale's  tactics :  this  bright, 
clever  girl,  with  the  disadvantage  of  not 
knowing  the  world,  fell  into  his  trap  at  once. 

In  the  first  place,  she  found  the  days  in- 
tolerably dull  and  tame,  without  the  flavor  of 
excitement,  the  incense  of  flattery  which  for 
some  time  had  unceasingly  surrounded  her  ;  in 
in  the  second  place,  the  strong  instinct  of  con- 
quest, the  strong  desire  to  win  and  wield  power, 
which  makes  men  conquerors,  and  women 
coquettes,  sprang  up  like  a  sudden  flame, 
fanned  by  the  weary  monotony,  the  yearning 
discontent  'of  her  life.  Martindale's  neglect 
stung  her,  not  so  much  because  her  heart  or 
her  fancy  were  interested  in  him,  as  because 
her  vanity  missed  the  homage  upon  which  it 
had  fed,  and  her  life  the  excitement  of  that 
"  fair  game  of  skill  "  upon  which  she  had  so 
willingly  entered.  Being  stung,  she  turned, 
like  every  other  creature  of  which  we  know, 
in  wrath  and  resolution.  "  If  he  has  amused 
himself  with  me,  I  will  do  something  more 
than  amuse  myself  with  him ! "  she  said.  "  If 
he  has  made  a  plaything  of  me,  I  will  make 
something  more  than  a  plaything  of  him. 
Can  I  do  it,  I  wonder?" — and  she  laughed  a 
little,  arching  her  white  neck  proudly;  "at 
least  it  will  be  worth  while  to  try — to  test  my 
power — to  learn,  once  for  all,  if  I  was  made 
for  this  domestic  treadmill,  or  if  I  could  have 
been  something  else  had  Fate  been  kind 
enough  to  give  me  another  life ! " 

Yet,  if  Nina  had  been  asked  to  define 
what  her  "something  else"  implied,  it  is  not 
probable  that  she  would  have  found  it  very 
easy  to  do,  though  an  indefinite  vision  of  a 
life  made  np  of  unlimited  conquests,  of  per- 
petual homage,  of  the  pou'er  for  which  every 
instinct  of  her  nature  yearned,  floated  before 
her  eyes.  Left  to  herself,  it  is  likely  enough 
that  the  girl  would  have  dreamed  these  fan- 
cies, but  the  enchanter  who  had  made  them 
to  such  wild  life  was  Martindale.  In  word, 
and  look,  and  tone,  he  had  said:  "You,  who 
are  buried  here,  were  born  for  other  things, 
and  have  only  to  enter  the  world  to  make  a 
sensation  such  as  few  women  of  your  genera- 
tion are  able  to  achieve !  "  Nina  had  laughed 
and  disclaimed  ths  flattery,  but  while  she 
disclaimed  she  had  believed.  It  would  have 
been  strange,  indeed,  if  one  so  young,  so  igno- 
rant, yet  so  conscious  of  her  own  rare  beauty, 


and  her  own  keen  wits,  had  nol  believed  a 
thing  so  pleasant  to  human  self-esteem.  If  in- 
experience makes  us  timid,  it  also  makes  us  pre- 
sumptuous. It  is  not  until  we  have  measured 
ourselves  with  others — hand  to  hand  and  foot 
to  foot — in  the  great  arena  of  the  world,  that 
we  learn  the  true  proportions  of  our  own 
statures. 

Meanwhile  Martindale,  who  spent  most  of 
his  days  and  half  of  his  nights  in  the  labo- 
ratory, suggested  to  Ralph  that  certain  new 
inventions  in  apparatus,  together  with  certain 
new  scientific  books,  were  imperatively  needed. 
"  You  are  behind  the  day,  my  dear  fellow," 
he  said ;  "  every  month  chronicles  an  advance 
in  chemistrj'.  It  will  never  do  to  shut  your 
mind  up,  and  imagine  that  what  you  have 
learned  is  sufficient.  In  this  science,  above 
all  sciences,  you  must  keep  yourself  en  rap- 
port with  the  progress  of  the  hour,  if  you  do 
not  want  to  be  left  hopelessly  behind." 
Ralph,  replying  meekly  that  he  was  aware  of 
this  fact,  and  that  he  had  endeavored,  as  far 
as  lay  in  his  power,  to  keep  himself  en  rap- 
port with  the  progress  of  the  hour,  at  once 
made  a  memorandum  of  the  desired  apparatus 
and  necessary  books,  for  which  he  promised 
to  send  an  order  by  that  day's  mail. 

Returning  to  the  house  for  this  purpose, 
he  told  Nina  triumphantly  that  he  had  never 
seen  anybody  go  into  any  thing  with  more 
zest  than  Martindale  had  gone  into  the  ex- 
periments. "  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have  a 
scientific  turn!"  he  said.  "  The  fellow  abso- 
lutely bends  over  his  crucibles  as  if  he  were 
in  love  with  them !  And  what  a  thing  it  is 
to  have  a  scientific  education,  too !  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  the  most  ignorant  dabbler  in  the 
world,  when  I  stand  and  watch  him  at  work." 

"  Chemistry  must  be  very  Interesting," 
said  Nina,  musingly.  A  bright  thought  sud- 
denly occurred  to  her.  She  felt  more  than 
ordinarily  listless  that  morning,  and  since  the 
mountain  would  not  come  to  Mohammed,  why 
should  not  Mohammed  go  to  the  mountain, 
even  though  it  had  taken  up  its  abode  in  a 
laboratory ?  "I  should  like  to  see  some  of 
Mr.  Martindale's  experiments,"  she  said,  care-' 
lessly.  "  Do  you  think  he  would  mind  if  f 
went  to  the  laboratory  for  that  purpose  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  be  very  glad  to  see 
you,  and  explain  every  thing  you  wanted  to 
know,"  answered  honest,  unsuspicious  Ralph, 
delighted  with  this  first  token  of  interest  in 
his  beloved  pursuit.     "  If  you  really  care  to 


16 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


go,  I  will  take  you  down  as  soon  as  I  have  fin- 
ished my  letter." 

But  this  was  not  exactly  what  Nina  wanted. 
"  I  thought  you  promised  uncle  to  go  to  Elk- 
bridge  on  business  this  morning?"  she  said. 
"  By  Jove,  so  I  did  ! "  answered  Ealph. 
"  Thank  you  for  reminding  me  of  it.  Til 
order  my  horse  in  a  minute,  but,  while  he  is 
being  saddled,  I  can  walk  with  you  to  the 
laboratory,  and  Martindale  can  give  you  a 
chemical  lecture  at  his  leisure.  If  you  would 
only  believe  it,  Nina,  there  is  not  in  the  world 
a  more  fascinating  study  than  that  of  chem- 
istry." 

"I  can  readily  believe  it,"  answered  Nina, 
a  little  dryly. 

She  left  the  room  as  she  said  this,  and 
went  up-stairs.  But  when  Ealph,  having  fin- 
ished his  letter  and  ordered  his  horse,  sent  a 
messenger  to  announce  that  he  was  ready  to 
go  to  tlie  pavilion,  she  did  not  keep  him  wait- 
ing, as  he  had  feared  she  would.  On  the  con- 
trary, her  light  step  on  the  broad,  shallow 
staircase,  made  him  turn  from  the  hall-door, 
where  he  was  standing,  before  he  had  im- 
agined that  his  message  would  have  reached 
her. 

"  Why,  Nina,  you  have  changed  your 
dress!"  he  said,  even  his  unobservant  eye 
being  struck  by  the  heightening  effect  which 
a  cloud  of  transparent  lawn,  in  tint  like  a 
blush-rose,  produced  on  her  beauty.  "  It 
is  amazingly  becoming ;  but  I  wonder  you 
put  on  any  thing  so  pretty  when  you  are  go- 
ing down  to  the  laboratory.  If  some  of  the 
chemicals  should  drop  on  it — " 

"Do  you  make  a  rule  of  dropping  chem- 
icals on  people's  dresses  ? "  asked  Nina,  as 
she  drew  on  her  gloves  and  took  her  parasol 
from  the  hall-table.  "Not  that  it  matters 
very  much  if  you  do.  However  becoming 
pink  muslin  may  be,  it  is,  fortunately,  not  ex- 
pensive. I  changed  my  dress  because  the 
other  had  a  fruit-stain  on  it." 

This  was  true.  Microscopic  observation 
might  have  detected  a  small  fruit-stain  on  the 
skirt  of  the  dress  which  had  been  thrown 
aside  ;  but  Nina  did  not  add,  that  out  of  her 
whole  wardrobe  she  had  carefully  selected  the 
one  she  wore  as  the  most  becoming,  and  that 
when  she  passed  the  strings  of  her  garden-hat 
over  the  rich  masses  of  her  hair,  she  had  felt 
eminently  satisfied  with  the  result  of  her 
choice. 

What   Martindale   thought   when,  roused 


out  of  his  study  of  a  chemical  manual  by  the 
unexpected  sound  of  voices,  he  turned  to  see 
this  exquisite  vision  framed  in  the  open  door 
of  the  pavilion,  with  green  boughs  drooping 
slantwise  behind,  and  a  vista  of  the  garden 
beyond,  it  would  be  hard  to  say.  For  a  min- 
ute he  did  not  utter  a  word.  He  only  caught 
his  breath  quickly — startled  out  of  his  usual 
cool  self-possession  by  the  glowing  beauty  of 
the  face  which  looked  at  him.  For  an  in- 
stant he  wondered  if  he  had  ever  before  real- 
ized Nina's  exceeding  loveliness — a  loveliness 
that  might  have  driven  an  artist  to  despair, 
since  the  tints  were  never  mixed  on  palette  or 
laid  on  canvas  that  could  have  copied  the 
abounding  freshness  and  glory  of  her  color- 
ing— the  satin  softness  and  rose  brilliancy 
of  her  skin,  the  cleft  scarlet  of  her  lips,  the 
bronze  sheen  of  her  hair,  or  the  liquid  lustre 
of  her  eyes.  It  was  Ralph's  voice  that  re- 
called his  self-possession  as  the  cousins  ad- 
vanced. 

"  I  have  brought  Nina  down  to  see  some 
chemical  experiments,  Martindale,"  he  said. 
"  I  suppose  you  are  not  too  busy  to  show  her 
a  few  things — simple  things,  you  know.  I 
would  do  it  myself,  only  I  am  obliged  to  ride 
over  to  Elkbridge  this  morning." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  show  Miss  Dal- 
zell  any  thing  that  will  interest  her,"  Martin- 
dale answered.  "  But  I  thought  you  did  not 
like  chemistry,"  he  added,  looking  at  Nina 
and  speaking  almost  abruptly. 

"  I  do  not,"  she  answered,  carelessly,  con- 
scious of  feeling  a  little  provoked  by  his  tone. 
"  I  am  only  idle  this  morning,  and  idleness 
begets  curiosity — even  in  things  which  do 
not  usually  interest  one.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  disturb  your  industry,  however,  Mr.  Mar- 
tindale. Your  studies  seem  so  very  abstruse  " 
— her  half-mocking  gaze  swept  over  the  open 
pages  of  the  book  he  had  laid  down — "  that 
it  would  be  a  pity  to  interrupt  them.  Ealph 
can  spare  a  little  time  for  my  instruction,  can- 
not you,  Ealph?  No  doubt  my  curiosity  will 
be  satisfied  with  a  very  small  amount  of  learn- 
ing. By  way  of  beginning,  what  is  this  ?  " 
and,  extending  her  hand,  she  touched  with 
one  finger  part  of  the  apparatus  on  a  table 
near  by. 

"  That  is  a  glass  retort,"  answered  Ealph, 
delighted  to  play  school-master.  "  This  gas- 
lamp  is  what  we  call  a  Bunsen's  burner ;  and 
if  you  will  observe,  Nina,  you  will  see  that 
the  action  of  heat  is  evolving  a  gas  from  the 


NINA'S  ATOXEMEXT. 


17 


chemical  substances  in  the  retort  which  the 
receiver  here  is  placed  to  collect,  and — " 

"  Yes,  I  see  all  about  it,"  said  Xina ;  '"  but 
suppose  I  take  the  stopper  from  the  retort, 
will  any  thing  occur  ?  " 

"  You  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing," 
said  Martindale,  coming  forward,  and,  to  her 
surprise,  quickly  removing  her  hand  from  the 
stopper,  en  which  it  rested.  "  The  gas  which 
is  being  evolved  here  is  the  most  subtle  and 
dangerous  known  to  chemistrv.  You  had  bet- 
ter  come  away,  Miss  Dalzell,  I  will  show  you 
some  of  the  ordinary  experiments — " 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  see  any  ordinary  ex- 
periments," said  Xina,  the  perverse.  "  I  want 
to  hear  about  this  subtle  and  dangerous  gas. 
What  is  the  name  of  it?  Ralph,  I  did  not 
know  that  you  were  in  the  habit  of  experi- 
menting with  such  things." 

"  Tliis  is  not  one  of  my  experiments,"  said 
Ralph.  "  Martindale  is  after  a  craze  of  his 
own,  and  has  been  experimenting  in  the  cyan- 
ogen compounds  for  some  time. — It  is  hydro- 
cyanic acid  you  are  preparing  now,  is  it  not  ?  " 
he  added,  looking  at  his  friend. 

"  Exactly  that,"  answered  Martindale,  "  so 
you  see  you  must  bring  Miss  Dalzell  away. — 
You  have  no  idea  how  dangerous  this  is,"  he 
went  on,  turning  to  Xina.  "  One  drop  of  the 
pure  substance  is  sufficient  to  kill,  and  a 
chemist  has  always  to  be  very  careful  in  pre- 
paring it,  since  the  vapor,  even  in  small  quan- 
tities, will  produce  fatal  results." 

"How  terrible!"  said  Xina,  and,  looking 
at  him,  her  rose-leaf  color  faded  a  little. 
"  You  should  not  tamper  with  such  dreadful 
things,"  she  said.  "  What  if  you  killed  your- 
self?" 

"  It  would  not  matter  very  much  if  I  did," 
he  answered,  carelessly.  "  My  life  is  not  of 
much  importance — not  like  Ralph's  there,  for 
instance.  You  may  be  sure  I  don't  involve 
Mm  in  any  of  my  dangerous  experiments." 

"  Very  considerate  of  him,  isn't  it  ?  "  said 
Ralph,  laughing.  "  But  you  may  rest  satisfied 
that  he  knows  what  he  is  about,  and  is  not 
likely  to  poison  himself.  Xow  I  must  really 
go,  for  I  am  sure  my  horse  is  waiting.  Mar- 
tindale, it  would  be  a  very  pretty  experiment 
to  show  her  about  water,  you  know — how  ox- 
ygen and  hydrogen  make  it,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing. — You've  no  idea  how  interesting  it 
is,  Xiiia,  to  see  gas  turned  into  water  before 
your  eyes." 

Although  Nina  made  no  reply,  he  left  the 


pavilion  quite  light-hearted.  It  was  so  cheer- 
ing to  think  that  she  was  really  beginning  to 
take  an  interest  in  chemistry  at  last!  It 
would  be  so  pleasant,  he  thought — for  Ralph 
was  domestic  even  in  his  love  of  science — to 
possess  a  wife  who  would  share  his  enthusi- 
asm to  the  extent  of  a  gentle  feminine  sym- 
pathy, who  would  take  an  interest  in  his  ex- 
periments, and  understand  intelligently  what 
he  was  doing,  or  what  he  wished  to  do !  It 
was  true  that  common-sense,  liberally  aided 
by  experience,  might  have  assured  him  how 
little  Nina  was  likely  to  be  metamorphosed 
into  such  a  wife ;  but  men  like  Wyverne  have 
an  abounding  faith  in  the  power  of  matri- 
mony to  work  any  and  every  change  in  the 
habits,  tastes,  and  disposition  of  a  woman. 
As  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away  in 
the  golden  sunlight,  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  he  had  left  behind,  and  in  close  proximi- 
ty, materials  more  inflammable  than  any  of 
his  gases ;  that  the  passion  of  a  man,  and  tiie 
fancy  of  a  woman,  may  sometimes  form  a 
combination  more  dangerous  than  any  chemi- 
cal result.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  it 
was  well  or  ill  for  him  that  he  realized  noth- 
ing of  this.  If  Nina  had  been  as  old  as  his 
mother,  and  as  ugly  as  Hecate,  he  could  not 
have  felt  less  uneasiness  concerning  her.  If 
Martindale  had  been  Sir  Galahad  in  person, 
he  could  not  have  trusted  him  more  implicitly. 
It  is  a  bitter  lesson,  though  a  necessary  one, 
when  the  world  first  teaches  us  that  such 
trust  is  rarely,  if  ever,  wisely  piven — but  it 
was  a  lesson  of  which  Ralph  Wyverne  had 
not  yet  learned  the  initial  letter. 

In  the  pavilion,  after  he  left  it,  silence 
reigned  for  a  minute.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  life  a  sudden,  strange  shyness  came  over 
Nina;  for  the  first  time,  also,  she  felt  a  dis- 
trust of  herself  and  of  her  usually  ready 
tongue,  which  half  inclined  her  to  wish  her- 
self away.  Martindale' s  manner  of  meeting 
her  had  been  so  different  from  any  thing 
which  she  anticipated  that  it  had  discom- 
posed and  thrown  her  back  on  herself  in  a 
most  provoking  manner.  She  had  expected 
that  he  would  be  radiant  with  pleasure,  and 
full  of  the  ease  and  brightness  which  she 
liked ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  stiff,  reserved, 
and  almost  rude.  True,  she  was  conscious 
that  he  regarded  her  with  an  admiration  more 
eloquent  than  many  words ;  but,  feeling  the 
blood  deepening  in  her  fair  cheeks  under  his 
•raze,  she  chose  to  consider  even  this  a  fresh 


18 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


cause  of  offense,  and  so  turned  away  petulant- 
ly toward  the  door. 

"  Since  Ralijh  has  gone,  I  will  not  detain 
you  any  longer,"  she  said.  "  Of  course,  you 
must  be  anxious  to  i-eturn  to  your  books  and 
gases." 

She  looked  so  mutlne  and  lovely  in  lier 
Texation,  that  Martindale  could  with  diffi- 
culty repress  a  smile.  He  understood  so  well 
why  she  had  come,  and  the  disappointment  in 
which  she  was  going,  that  he  felt  tempted  to 
amuse  himself  by  adding  a  little  more  fuel  to 
the  flame  of  her  petulance  before  he  indemni- 
fied himself,  in  his  own  fashion,  for  the  self- 
denial  of  the  last  few  days.  Even  to  look  at 
her  was  such  a  pleasure,  to  a  man  who  wor- 
shiped beauty  as  this  student  of  chemistry 
did,  that  he  wanted  to  make  the  most  of  her 
changing  moods ;  to  watch  the  sea-shell  color 
vary,  to  note  every  play  of  the  flexile  lips, 
and  to  meet  the  full-orbed  glow  of  the  eyes 
before  he  won  her  back — as  he  knew  a  word 
would  win  her  back — to  her  usual  sparkling 
self. 

"  You  cannot  surely  think  that  you  detain 
me ! "  he  repeated,  in  answer  to  her  last 
words.  "  I  must  beg  you  to  believe  that  I 
am  highly  honored  by  your  visit.  My  studies 
and  experiments  can  readily  wait  your  pleas- 
ure." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  they  should 
do  so,"  said  Nina,  vexed  afresh,  as  he  knew 
that  she  would  be,  by  the  formality  of  his 
words.  "My  pleasure  is  to  find  something 
more  entertaining  than  chemistry.  I  told 
Ralph  that  a  very  small  amount  of  knowledge 
would  gratify  my  curiosity.  It  has  been  quite 
gratified." 

"  But  you  have  not  gained  any  knowledge 
at  all,"  said  he,  laughing.  Then  he  came  for- 
ward to  her  side.  "  If  you  go,  you  must  let 
me  go  with  you,"  he  said.  *'  Since  I  have 
been  demoralized  by  a  glimpse  of  your  face,  I 
cannot  return  to  the  books  and  gases  to  which 
you  so  kindly  commend  me." 

The  face  of  which  he  spoke  frowned, 
blushed,  and  smiled,  all  at  once — the  peach- 
blossom  tints  glowing  into  brighter  beauty 
under  his  glance.  But,  for  all  that,  Nina  was 
not  appeased,  as  her  answer  showed  : 

"  I  am  sorry  that  my  face  should  have  de- 
moralized you,"  she  said,  stiffly.  "I  can  only 
make  amends  by  removing  it  at  once.  Per- 
haps, indeed,  I  ought  to  apologize  for  intrud- 
ing at  all  into  such  sacred  precincts ;  but  I 


came  to  gratify  Ralph.  He  thinks  that,  be- 
fore we  are  married,  I  ought  to  learn  a  little 
chemistry." 

"  Is  that  a  necessary  preparation  for  mat- 
rimony ? "  asked  Martindale.  His  manner 
did  not  betray  the  jealous  pang  at  his  heart, 
but  he  could  not  help  wondering  if  she  at  all 
estimated  the  power  of  her  last  words  to 
change  his  amused  trifling  into  a  sudden  res- 
olute determination  to  use  to  the  full  this  op- 
portunity which  fate  and  caprice  had  given 
him. 

"  Ralph  thinks  so,"  she  answered,  care- 
lessly. "He  ought  to  be  the  best  judge, 
ought  not  he  ?  " 

"  Of  what  he  desires — certainly.  But  to 
desire  and  to  obtain  are  very  different  things 
in  this  highly-satisfactory  liTe  of  ours." 

"  Not  with  him,"  she  said.  "  He  has  had 
every  thing  that  he  ever  desired — even  mc," 
she  added,  shrugging  her  shoulders — "if  I 
am  worth  counting  a  possession." 

"Do  you  doubt  your  value?"  said  her 
companion,  with  a  slight  laugh.  "If  you  de- 
sire to  test  it,  take  your  life  back  into  your 
own  hands,  and  see  whether  even  Ralph's  im- 
passive calm  will  not  be  stirred." 

"  If  I  took  it  back,  what  should  I  do  with 
it  ?  "  she  asked.  There  was  an  accent  of  the 
pathos  that  is  born  of  hopelessness  in  her 
voice,  which  was  not  meant  for  effect.  She 
had  asked  herself  the  same  question  before 
this,  and  knew  how  dreary  the  answer  was. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  he,  quickly,  with 
a  cadence  of  passionate  meaning  in  his  tone. 
He  would  test  his  power,  and  know  the  best 
or  worst  at  once,  he  thought. 

But  Nina  drew  herself  up  proudly. 

"Why  should  you  tell  me?"  she  asked. 
"  There  is  no  possibility  ef  such  an  event 
coming  to  pass."  Then,  with  an  eagerness 
that  told  its  own  story  of  self-reproach,  she 
added  :  "It  is  a  good  thing  to  be  able  to 
trust  one's  life  into  such  faithful  keeping  as 
that  of  Ralph.  I  do  not  think  there  is  a 
kinder  or  truer  heart  than  his  in  the  world." 

"  Ralph  is  a  very  good  fellow,"  said  Mar- 
tindale, quietly,  "  but,  if  he  were  the  best  in 
the  universe,  he  could  never  make  vou  hap- 

py." 

"  How  can  you  possibly  know  what  would 
make  me  happy  ?  "  she  demanded,  haughtily, 
her  color  deepening,  her  eyes  expanding  with 
the  glow  that  he  liked  to  provoke. 

"  Rather,  how  can  I  help  knowing  ?  "  he 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT, 


19 


said,  with  a  smile,  as  his  brown  eyes  met  her 
own.  "  Do  you  remember  how  you  came  into 
the  drawing-room  that  first  day  ?  "  he  went 
on.  "  It  was  like  a  sudden  delicious  burst  of 
color,  or  gleam  of  sunlight,  over  a  gray  land- 
scape. Even  then — even  before  you  had  ut- 
tered a  word  of  the  discontent  which  you  felt 
for  your  life — I  saw  how  little  you  belonged 
to  it,  liow  entirely  Nature  had  fitted  you  for 
other  things.  Ralph  had  told  me  that  you 
were  engaged  to  him.  Instinct  told  me,  as 
soon  as  I  looked  at  your  face,  that  this  en- 
gagement owed  its  existence  to  your  own 
supreme  ignorance  of  yourself." 

"  And  you  have  been  kind  enough  to  en- 
deavor to  enlighten  that  ignorance  !  "  said 
she,  with  not  a  little  bitterness.  "  I  owe  you 
no  thanks  for  it.  You  have  fed  ray  vanity, 
and  fanned  the  discontent  of  which  I  was 
scarcely  conscious  before  you  came,  until  it 
renders  my  life  miserable.  And  you  have 
done  this — do  not  fancy  that  I  am  ignorant 
of  it — simply  for  your  own  amusement." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  said;  and  a  sud- 
den thriU  in  his  voice  made  her  start.  "  If  I 
have  rendered  you  miserable,"  he  said,  draw- 
ing nearer,  and  speaking  eagerly,  "  it  has 
been  that  I  might  in  turn  render  you  happy, 
that  I  might  rescue  you  from  the  death-in- 
life  to  which  you  are  doomed,  that  I  might 
give  you  to  the  world  for  which  you  were 
born !  Nina,  it  is  useless  for  me  to  say  that 
I  love  you — you  know  that  already — it  only 
remains  for  you  to  say  whether  you  will  tame- 
ly accept  the  life  which  has  been  made  for 
you,  or  whether  you  will  make  your  own  life 
by  coming  with  me.  I  have  not  wealth  to 
offer  you,  as  "Wyverne  has,  but  I  have  some- 
thing which  is  better  still — freedom  !  " 

He  uttered  the  last  word  in  a  tone  which 
was  in  itself  Hke  an  electric  charge  to  the  girl 
who  listened.  Her  whole  nature  seemed  to 
leap  up  in  response.  Freedom  ! — freedom  to 
quaff  to  its  full  the  elixir  of  life,  of  power,  of 
excitement  like  that  which  filled  her  now! 
The  wealth  of  an  emperor  would  have  tempted 
her  less  than  that  single  word,  than  a  single 
one  of  the  hopes  it  embodied  !  Yet  it  was  at 
this  moment  that  a  dim,  struggling  sense  of 
right  and  wrong  came  to  the  girl.  Face  to 
face  with  the  roused  earnestness  of  the  man 
before  her,  all  her  bright,  graceful  mockery, 
her  pretty,  innate  coquetry  seemed  stricken 
from  her  command.  Nothing  remained  but 
the  instinctive  resistance  of  one  who   feels 


what  is  right,  and  who  is  tempted  within  as 
well  as  without  toward  what  is  wrong. 

"  You  must  not  talk  to  me  like  this ! " 
she  said,  all  the  bright  color  ebbing  from  her 
face,  her  breath  coming  short  and  quick.  "It 
is  unkind — it  is  dishonorable  !  You  have  no 
right—" 

"No  right!"  interrupted  he,  scornfully. 
"  Who  asks  for  a  right  ?  Mine  rests  in  my 
love  for  you,  and  my  determination  to  rescue 
you !  I  ask  no  other.  Do  you  think  it  mat- 
ters to  me  that  you  have  promised  Ralph 
"Wyverne  to  marry  him  ?  I  would  walk  over 
a  thousand  Ralph  Wyvernes  if  it  were  a  ques- 
tion of  winning  you  at  last." 

"But  it  is  not  a  question  of  that!"  said 
Nina,  his  imperious  tone  rousing  a  flash  of  de- 
fiance in  her.  She  realized  now  how  unwise 
she  had  been  to  come,  but  even  if  Martindale 
would  have  permitted  her  to  leave  him — which 
she  felt  to  be  doubtful,  since  he  stood  direct- 
ly in  her  path — there  was  a  fascination  that 
kept  her  motionless.  Go !  How  could  she 
go  ?  How  could  she  leave  this  stir  of  combat, 
in  which,  if  there  was  danger,  there  was  also 
the  quick  breath  of  excitement,  for  the  dull 
house  which  she  knew  so  well,  and  her  aunt's 
platitudes  and  crochet-work  ? 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Martindale,  quietly. 
"  It  is  not  a  question,  but  a  certainty — for  I 
will  win  you,  Nina !  I  have  sworn  to  do  it, 
and  there  is  no  power  on  earth  or  in  heaven 
to  make  me  swerve  from  my  resolution  !  " 

"You  cannot  win  me  despite  myself,"  said 
Nina,  who  rather  liked  the  novelty  of  this 
masterful  wooing.  She  looked  up  and  met 
the  eager,  passionate  eyes  that  were  bent  on 
her.  The  first  taste  of  forbidden  fruit  was 
sweet  to  Eve,  and  alas  !  it  has  remained  sweet 
to  all  of  her  descendants. 

"  I  will  win  you  even  despite  yourself !  "  he 
answered,  in  a  tone  of  confident  power.  "  But 
will  it  need  to  be  despite  yourself?  "  he  add- 
ed, in  a  softer  voice.  "  Nina,  I  know  you  do 
not  love  Ralph  Wyverne ;  but  can  you  not 
love  nie  ?  " 

There  was  little  humility  in  the  question, 
but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  humility  would 
not  have  served  his  cause  with  Nina  half  so 
well  as  the  pride  that  was  almost  haughty  in 
its  self-confidence.  He  saw  the  lovely  color 
flicker  into  her  face  at  his  last  words,  the 
white  throat  give  a  quick,  nervous  gasp,  and 
the  lids  droop  over  the  eyes.  Never  had  she 
looked  more  beautiful,  and  never  had  he  felt 


20 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


more  resolved  to  win  licr  at  all  liazards — 
Even,  as  be  had  said,  despite  herself.  Her  re- 
sistance gave  a  charm,  without  which  her 
very  beauty  would  have  lost  half  its  value  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Can  you  not  love  me,  and  trust  your  life 
with  me,  Nina  '?  "  he  said,  taking  into  his  own 
the  hands  which  were  idly  clasped  before  her, 
and  watching  every  flutter  of  the  long,  curling 
lashes  on  the  rose-tinted  cheek.  "  I  can  give 
you  the  tilings  for  which  you  long,  and  love, 
besides,  such  as  no  other  man  ever  will  give 
you.  Nina,  my  beautiful  darling,  will  you  not 
come  to  me  ?  " 

"  Eow  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ? " 
said  Nina,  almost  in  a  whisper  —  somehow 
her  powers  of  resistance  seemed  ebbing  from 
her ;  she  was  conscious  of  being  borne  down 
in  the  strife  which  she  had  so  deliberately 
sought,  so  arrogantly  met — "  you  have  forgot- 
ten Ralph,  /cannot  do  so." 

"Nay,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  laugh  of 
triumph,  "if  you  will  let  me  be  your  teacher, 
you  will  soon  learn  to  forget  Ralph.  Nina, 
can  you  not  forget  him  now  ?  Look  at  me, 
sweet  one,  and  let  me  read  the  answer  in  your 
eyes." 

Even  when  Nina  lifted  her  eyes,  she  meant 
to  say,  "  You  are  wrong  !  I  can  never  forget 
that  my  honor  is  bound  to  Ralph,"  but  some- 
thing in  the  glance  she  met,  hushed  the  words. 
Every  thing  suddenly  seemed  to  waver  before 
her — the  green,  swaying  boughs,  the  golden, 
summer  day,  the  handsome,  bending  face.  It 
was  only  when  she  felt  the  touch  of  Martin- 
dale's  lips  on  her  own,  that  she  realized  with 
a  sudden  shock  all  that  she  had  implied  by 
her  silence. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  Nina,"  said  Ralph,  tenderly,  "  I  am  afraid 
there  is  something  the  matter  with  you,  dear." 

It  was  several  days  after  the  scene  in  the 
laboratory.  The  cousins  were  alone  in  the 
drawing-room,  which  Ralph  had  entered  un- 
expectedly in  search  of  a  missing  glove,  and 
where  he  had  found  Nina  all  alone,  standing 
by  an  open  window,  gazing  out  absently  over 
the  flowery  terrace  to  the  green  lawn  beyond. 
Something  listless  as  well  as  absent  in  the 
girl's  attitude  struck  him  suddenly.  It  was 
strange  for  Nina — in  whom  buoyant  youth 
and  health  seemed  usually  overflowing  —  to 
appear  listless,  and  he  remembered  that  he 


had  thought  her  looking  pale  the  day  before. 
3Iovcd  by  a  quick  impulse  of  affectionate  con- 
cern, he  crossed  the  room,  therefore,  with  the 
caressing  words  recorded  above. 

But  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  startled 
look  in  the  eyes  which  turned  on  him,  nor  the 
recoiling  movement  which  she  made  when  he 
attempted  to  pass  his  arm  lightly  around  her. 

"  Nina  ! "  he  said,  surprised  and  pained  ; 
"  is  any  thing  the  matter  ?  Have  I  done  any 
thing  to  offend  you  ?  " 

"  You  ! "  said  Nina,  with  a  faint  laugh. 
"  When  did  you  ever  do  any  thing  to  offend 
me  ?  I — I  am  only  nervous.  I  have  felt 
heavy  and  languid  for  a  day  or  two.  Perhaps 
I  need  a  tonic.  Don't  people  always  need  a 
tonic  when  they  feel  languid  ?  Count  iny 
pulse,  and  see  if  it  is  all  right." 

She  extended  her  delicate  wrist,  with  a 
pretty  tracery  of  azure  veins  showing  through 
the  transparent  skin  ;  but,  instead  of  accept- 
ing the  diversion  thus  offered.  Ralph  placed 
one  hand  under  her  chin,  and  turned  the 
exquisite  Hebe-face  toward  the  light. 

"  I  can  judge  better  from  your  eyes  than 
from  your  pulse,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  Look 
at  me,  and  let  me  see  what  cloud  has  come 
over  you." 

But  this  Nina  would  not  do ;  indeed,  she 
felt  that  she  could  not  meet  the  frank,  tender 
eyes  looking  at  her,  with  the  gloom  of  unquiet 
deception  in  her  own.  The  white,  sculptu- 
resque lids  fell  heavily;  the  slender,  darfe 
brows  met  in  an  impatient  frown. 

"  Don't,  Ralph ! "  she  said,  petulantly.  "  I 
cannot  endure  such  a  glare !  There  is  noth- 
ing the  matter  with  me,  except  that  I  ara 
stupid  and  dull." 

"  Why,  you  were  nervous  and  languid  a 
minute  ago,"  said  Ralph,  "  and  now  stupid 
and  dull — what  a  sudden  list  of  maladies! 
And,  for  you,  of  all  people !  Do  you  know — 
now  that  I  come  to  think  of  it — you  have  not 
seemed  quite  yourself  since  that  day  we  went 
down  to  the  laboratory  ?  I  wonder  if  you 
could  have  inhaled  some  of  Martindale's  poi- 
sonous compounds  ?  " 

"  How  absurd  ! "  said  Nina ;  but  her  smile 
was  forced,  and  the  vivid  color  which  leaped 
to  her  face  might  have  wakened  suspicion  in 
anybody  but  Ralph.  He,  however,  blundered 
on: 

"I  must  make  Martindale  come  and  pre- 
scribe for  you,"  said  Ralph.  "Every  chemist 
is  something  of  a  physician — at  least  to  the 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


21 


extent  of  knowiug  the  effect  of  his  chemicals. 
If  you  should  have  chanced  to  inhale  a  little 
poison,  he  must  administer  an  antidote  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  Pray,  don't  be  foolish ! "  said  Nina,  cold- 
ly—the flush  on  her  face  had  faded  as  quick- 
ly as  it  came,  and  nothing  remained  now  but 
a  faint  stain  of  color  on  either  cheek — "I 
have  inhaled  no  poison ;  but,  if  I  had  done 
so,  I  would  not  care  to  receive  an  antidote 
from  Mr.  Martindale.  Ralph,"  she  said,  sud- 
denly and  passionately,  "  I  asked  you  to  send 
that  man  away  when  he  first  came  here.  It 
would  have  been  better — oh,  how  much  better 
— if  j-ou  had  heeded  me  ! " 

"  Has  Martindale  been  doing  any  thing?  " 
said  Ralph.  "  I  knew  somebody  had  offended 
you,  Nina ;  but  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  gone 
back  to  your  dislike  of  him." 

"  I  did  not  say  that  I  had  gone  back  to 
my  dislike  of  him,"  answered  Nina,  impatient- 
ly. "Ralph,  can  you  not  understand  that 
one  can  distrust  a  person  without — without 
disliking  him  ? " 

"  No,  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Ralph, 
frankly.  "  With  me,  to  like  and  to  trust  are 
synonymous  terms.  I  could  not  for  a  mo- 
ment entertain  any  regard  for  a  person  whom 
I  distrusted." 

"That  is  to  say,  you  could  not  ham  to 
regard  a  person  wiiom  you  distrusted,"  said 
Nina,  quickly.  "But  if  you  liked  —  loved, 
perhaps — already,  could  you  not  continue  to 
like  or  love  even  if — if  you  had  cause  to  dis- 
trust ? " 

"  I  scarcely  think  so,"  he  answered,  sim- 
ply. "  But,  thank  God,  I  have  never  been 
tried  with  a  distrust  of  any  one  whom  I 
loved!" 

"  I  wonder  how  you  would  bear  it,"  said 
she,  half  absentlj' — gazing  away  from  him  out 
of  the  window. 

"Badly  enough,"  he  answered.  "In  fact, 
I  cannot  imagine  how  I  would  bear  it  at  all. 
Nothing  could  be  more  horrible — more  unen- 
durable ! "  Then,  quickly :  "  Don't  let  us  talk 
of  such  things — they  are  not  for  you  and  me. 
We  trust  each  other,  do  we  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  she,  quietly — if  he  had 
noticed  closely,  he  would  have  seen  a  quick 
gasp  in  her  throat — "  but  neither  of  us 
can  tell  how  unworthy  the  other  may  be  of 
that  trust." 

"  Good  Heavens,  Nina  !  "  said  Ralph.  He 
was  quite  confounded  by  this  unexpected  re- 


ply, and  for  a  minute  could  only  stare  at  the 
speaker.  Then,  naturally  enough,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  such  a  surprising  supposition 
must  refer  to  himself.  "  Something  certainly 
is  the  matter,"  he  said,  emphatically,  "  Nina ; 
will  you  not  tell  me  what  it  is?  If  I  have 
done  any  thing  to  pain  or  annoy  you — " 

'■'■You  done  any  thing!"  interrupted  Nina, 
again.  "  Ralph,  are  you  mad  ?  You  never 
did  any  thing  in  your  life  to  pain  or  annoy 
me.  It  is  I  who  have  always  pained  and  an- 
noyed you,  who  have  been  cold  and  ungrate- 
ful, and — and  unworthy  of  every  kind  and 
loving  thought  that  you  have  ever  given  me ! 
If  you  could  forget  me,"  said  she,  meeting  his 
gaze  suddenly  for  the  first  time,  "  it  might  be 
the  best  thing  that  could  befall  you." 

"Nina,  you  certainly  must  be  ill!"  said 
Ralph.  "  You  would  never  talk  such  non- 
sense if  you  were  not.  Why,  I  never  heard 
any  thing  like  it !  Forget  you  ! — I,  who  have 
never  done  any  thing  but  love  you  since  you 
first  came  to  us !  Here ! — let  me  feel  your 
pulse.     You  certainly  must  have  a  fever." 

But,  instead  of  extending  her  wrist  again, 
Nina  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  looked 
at  him  with  a  steady,  wistful  air.  As  she 
faced  him  thus,  he  began  to  observe,  for  the 
first  time,  the  deep  shadow  in  her  usually 
sunny  face. 

"  Ralph,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  do  you  not 
see  that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  make  you 
happy  ?  Dear,  we  are  too  unlike.  One  can 
do  a  great  deal  toward  controlling  one's  self 
— at  least  good  people  say  that  we  can — but 
one  cannot  create  one's  self  over  again  on  an- 
other model,  and  that  is  what  I  should  have 
to  do  before  I  should  be  able  to  live  your  life 
as  your  wife  should  live  it." 

"  What  on  earth  has  put  such  ideas  into 
your  head?"  asked  Ralph,  alarmed  and  puz- 
zled both  at  once.  "  If  I  am  willing  to  take 
you  just  as  you  are,  without  any  creating 
over  again  whatever,  why  should  you  torment 
yourself  with  scruples  and  ideas  like  these  ? 
When  you  are  married  and  settled,  you  wiil 
grow  to  like  domestic  things  better  than  you 
do  now — but  I  only  desire  that  change  for 
your  own  comfort.  I  love  you  too  well  as 
you  are,  to  see  any  fault  in  you." 

Nina  dropped  her  hand  wearily,  and  turned 
from  him  again  toward  the  window.  "  If  you 
knew  me  as  I  am,  you  would  not  love  me  for 
an  hour,"  she  said.  "  0  Ralph,  if  you  would 
only  give  me  up,  and — and  let  me  sink  out 


23 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


of  your  life,  you  would  be  so  much  happi- 
er!" 

"Nina  !  "  said  Ralph,  and  his  voice  had  a 
cadence  in  it  which  made  her  start,  thinking 
she  had  betrayed  herself.  Instinctively  she 
drew  into  the  shade,  as  he  bent  forward  that 
he  might  read  her  face  by  the  full  light  of  the 
window,  "Am  I  so  dull  that  I  have  not 
understood  you  all  this  time?  "  he  said,  with 
a  strange  sort  of  tension  in  his  tone.  "  Is  it 
for  yourself  you  have  been  pleading,  while  you 
talked  of  me?  You  say  that  I  will  find  no 
happiness  in  our  marriage — Nina,  are  you 
thinking  what  you  will  find  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  half  piteously,  the 
fingers  of  her  right  hand  seeking  the  engage- 
ment-ring which  her  left  hand  wore.  Now 
was  the  golden  moment  in  which  to  speak,  if 
she  meant  to  speak  at  all ;  but  face  to  face 
with  the  opportunity,  she  shrank  back,  feel- 
ing her  inability  to  use  it.  For  Nina  was 
not  only  a  bom  epicurean — a  born  seeker 
and  lover  of  pleasure  and  delight — but  she 
was  also  that  which  all  epicureans  essentially 
are — a  coward.  She  shrank  from  any  thing 
painful,  as  she  might  have  shrunk  from  a 
cruel  blow.  Looking  into  Ralph's  face — 
it  had  grown  very  pale,  and,  although  the  eyes 
were  tender,  the  mouth  was  set  and  almost 
stern — her  heart  died  away  within  her.  "  I 
cannot,  I  cannot ! "  she  thought.  To  do  her 
justice,  it  was  not  cowardice  alone  that 
sealed  her  lips.  The  ej-es,  gazing  into  her 
own,  seemed  to  her  excited  fancy  like  an  em- 
bodiment of  all  the  love  and  care  which  had 
been  given  to  her  since  the  first  hour  in 
which  the  roof  of  Wyverne  had,  sheltered 
her  helpless  orphanhood.  Were  ever  parents 
kinder  or  more  indulgent  than  her  uncle  and 
aunt,  was  ever  brother  more  tender,  was  ever 
lover  more  devoted,  than  Ralph  ?  A  vision 
of  her  petted,  luxurious  life  rose  before  the 
girl.  They  had  given  her  every  thing  which 
was  theirs  to  give.  It  was  for  her  to  decide 
what  should  be  their  reward. 

Then  even  in  this  foolish  and  reckless 
heart,  a  mighty  impulse  of  self-abnegating 
gratitude  rose.  "  Ralph,"  she  cried,  suddenly, 
"I  was  not  thinking  of  myself;  I  was  only 
thinking  of  you !  I  will  do  whatever  you 
wish,  dear;  but  you  must  remember  that — 
that  I  knew  how  it  would  be,  when  I  disap- 
point you  in  every  thing,  and  make  you 
wretched." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  that,  my  darling," 


said  Ralph,  with  a  great  wave  of  gladness 
coming  over  his  face.  He  did  not  exactly 
understand  Nina,  having  never  known  her  to 
be  seized  with  a  fit  of  humility  before — but 
a  load  seemed  lifted  from  him  when  he  found 
that  this  was  all  she  meant.  Only  a  fear  lest 
she  should  make  him  wretched  !  He  laughed 
outright.  "My  pretty  one,"  he  said,  with  ca- 
ressing tenderness,  "even  to  look  at  you  is 
enough  to  bring  sunlight  and  gladness  to  a 
man's  heart." 

"  But  I  shall  not  be  pretty  always,"  said 
Nina.  She  almost  hated  her  prettiness  at 
that  moment.  It  Tvas  the  root  of  all  her 
trouble.  But  for  the  entrancing  bloom  of 
her  skin,  the  moist  scarlet  of  her  lips,  the 
liquid  lustre  of  her  eyes,  Ralph  would  never 
have  desired  to  marry  her,  Martindale  would 
never  have  tarried  at  Wyverne  over  fruitless 
experiments  in  chemistry,  the  discontent  and 
eager  longing  which  burned  within  her  like  a 
flame  would  never  have  found  birth.  "  If  I 
had  been  ugly,  I  should  have  been  domestic," 
she  thought,  with  a  momentai-y  yearning  for 
a  sallow  skin  and  dull  eyes.  "  Ugly  women 
always  are  domestic — they  have  no  tempta- 
tion to  be  any  thing  else." 

Meanwhile  Ralph  was  saying,  with  that 
air  of  a0"ectionate  solicitude  which  is  so  de- 
lightful when  the  affection  is  returned,  but  so 
terribly  irksome  when  it  is  not:  "My  darling, 
there  is  something  you  must  do  for  me.  Did 
I  not  hear  mother  say  that  you  are  going 
with  her  to  Elkbridge  for  some  shopping  to- 
day? Promise  me  that  while  you  are  there 
you  will  call  and  see  Dr.  Shelton.  I  am  not 
quite  easy  about  you." 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me," 
said  Nina — "  at  least  nothing  which  Dr.  Shel- 
ton can  cure.  If  I  went  to  see  him,  it  could 
only  be  to  ask  if  he  could  '  minister  to  a  mind 
diseased.'  I  think  my  mind  must  be  diseased, 
else  I  should  never  have  been  so  foolish  as  I 
have  been  this  morning.  But  I  see  the  car- 
riage coming  round,  and  I  have  not  changed 
my  dress  yet.  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  I 
Was  going  to  Elkbridge  with  Aunt  Essie." 

She  turned  away  quickly — glad  to  escape 
from  the  eyes  which  had  all  of  love's  eager- 
ness and  something  of  love's  keenness  in 
them — and,  hurrying  out  of  the  room,  did  not 
pause  until  she  was  safe  within  the  shelter  of 
her  own  chamber,  a  cool,  bowery  apartment 
with  a  delicious  green  light  from  its  half- 
closed  blinds,  and  a  whiff  of  ottar  of  roses  on 


NIXA'S   ATONEMENT. 


23 


the  air.  Ou  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  across 
which  a  pretty  light  silk  was  lying,  Nina 
flung  herself — but  not  to  pray.  Only  to  bury 
her  face  in  the  Marseilles  counterpane  and 
smother  the  dry,  stormy  sobs  that  were  shak- 
ing her  whole  frame. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  Oh,  what  urn  I  to 
do?"  she  panted.  "It  would  be  a  blacker 
ingratitude  than  even  I  am  capable  of  to  leave 
them,  as  he  wishes  me  to  do  ;  and  yet — I  think 
1  shall  go  mad  if  Ralph  talks  to  me  and  looks 
at  me  again  as  he  did  a  little  while  ago  !  To 
see  the  love  and  trust  in  his  eyes,  and  to  think 
how  I  have  betrayed  the  one  and  forfeited  the 
other,  is  more  than  I  can  bear !  Oh,  what 
am  I  to  do  ?  To  keep  my  engagement  and 
make  myself  miserable,  or  to  break  it  and 
make  him  wretched  ?  Yet  have  I  indeed  a 
liberty  of  choice  ?  "  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  began  to  pace  the  floor.  "  Have  they  not 
bought  me — these  good,  kind,  tame,  stupid 
people — and  paid  my  value  a  hundred  times 
over  ?  "  Her  glance  traveled  from  the  silk 
dress  on  the  bed  to  a  set  of  pearls — Ralph's 
birthday  present — on  the  toilet-table.  "  Sure- 
ly my  red-and-white  beauty  is  not  worth  a 
higher  price  than  the  lavish  indulgence  which 
these  things  represent.  But  freedom  ! — are 
they  worthy  to  be  the  price  of  freedom  ? " 
Her  hands  clasped  and  unclasped  nervously ; 
her  impatient  glance  swept  round  the  room 
as  if  its  walls  suffocated  her;  at  that  moment 
she  looked  like  some  wild  thing  of  the  forest 
pent  within  a  cage.  "  It  is  a  good  thing  that 
this  cannot  last  long  ! "  she  thought,  snatch- 
ing from  her  white  throat  a  band  of  velvet, 
which  felt  as  if  it  was  choking  her.  "It  is  a 
good  thing  that  my  wedding-day  is  only  two 
weeks  distant.  Whatever  is  to  be  decided, 
must  be  decided  soon ;  whatever  is  to  be 
done,  must  be  done  before  then.  What  it 
will  be,  Heaven  only  knows.  /  know  noth- 
ing except  that  I  have  not  courage  to  be 
either  wholly  true  or  wholly  false.  Every 
thing  would  be  easier  if  I  were  better,  or — 
worse ! " 

And  little  as  Nina  suspected  it,  she  epit- 
omized her  whole  character  in  those  words. 
Every  thing  would  have  been  easier  with  her 
if  she  had  been  either  better  or  worse — if  she 
had  stood  upon  a  higher  or  lower  plane  of  ac- 
tion and  feeling.  As  it  was,  she  succumbed 
to  a  temptation  which  a  nobler  nature  would 
have  resisted,  while  she  stood  firm  where  a 
more  selfish  nature  would  have  given  way,  and 


walked  over  all  obstacles  to  its  end.  In  the 
vortex  of  conflicting  circumstance  thus  cre- 
ated, it  was  she  who  was  rent  and  torn  by  the 
struggle  she  had  provoked,  and  out  of  which 
came  neither  victory  nor  defeat ;  it  was  she 
who  learned  that  to  pause  midway  between 
good  and  evil,  to  strive  to  reconcile  honor 
and  dishonor,  truth  and  falsehood,  is  the  most 
hopeless  problem  that  a  human  soul  can  pos- 
sibly attempt  to  solve. 

When  she  came  down-stairs  to  accompany 
Mrs.  Wyverne  on  the  shopping  expedition  to 
Elkbridge,  no  one  would  have  guessed  from 
her  glowing  cheeks  and  shining  eyes  what 
had  given  such  bloom  to  the  one,  such  light 
to  the  other.  "I  never  saw  you  looking  bet- 
ter, Nina,"  said  Mrs.  Wyverne,  as  they  drove 
off.  "It  must  be  the  color  of  your  dress 
which  is  so  becoming — or  else  the  shape  of 
your  hat.  We  will  go  to  the  photograph-gal- 
lery while  we  are  in  Elkbridge ;  I  have  been 
promising  your  likeness  to  my  sister  for  some 
time.  She  is  anxious  to  see  what  Ralph's  fu- 
ture wife  looks  like." 

"  I  hope  she  will  be  satisfied  with  Ralph's 
taste,"  said  Nina.  "  I  am  not  sure  of  it,  how- 
ever, for  photographs  never  give  an  idea  of 
complexion  ;  and  you  know,  Aunt  Essie,  my 
nose  is  not  straight." 

The  shopping  did  not  include  any  very  ex- 
tensive purchases — for  Mrs.  Wyverne  had  too 
much  regard  for  fashion  to  patronize  to  any 
great  extent  the  shopkeepers  and  dress-mak- 
ers of  a  country-town — but  a  little  of  that 
amusement  can  readily  be  spread  over  a  large 
amount  of  time,  especially  with  the  aid  of  a 
few  visits,  and  an  hour  or  two  in  a  photo- 
graph-gallery. Therefore,  it  chanced  that  the 
two  ladies  spent  the  day  in  Elkbridge,  and 
that  the  sun  was  sinking  when  they  entered 
the  gates  of  Wyverne.  "  There  is  nobody  at 
home,"  said  Nina,  glancing  along  the  front  of 
the  house,  as  they  approached.  The  next  in- 
stant, however,  she  started  back,  for  when 
they  stopped  Martindale  appeared  from  some 
quarter,  and  opened  the  carriage-door. 

"  You  see  there  is  somebody  at  home," 
said  Mrs.  Wyverne,  with  a  laugh. — "  Are  you 
all  alone,  Mr.  Martindale  ?  "  she  added,  as  he 
assisted  her  to  alight.  "  We  were  just  say- 
ing that  the  house  looked  entirely  deserted." 

"  It  has  been  deserted  by  every  one  but 
me  since  mid-davj"  answered  Martindale.  "  I 
am  to  blame  for  my  solitude,  however.  Ralph 
invited  me  to  accompany  Mr.  Wyverne  and 


24 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


himself  to  what  he  called  '  the  lower  planta- 
tion,' but  I  declined,  on  the  score  of  exces- 
sive laziness  and  excessive  heat.  In  fact,  I 
hoped  you  would  be  back  in  time  for  our 
ride,"  he  said,  looking  at  Nina. 

"We  were  detained  in  Elkbridge,"  an- 
swered she,  a  little  coldl}'.  She  was  busy 
gathering  up  the  parcels  scattered  over  tlie 
seat  of  the  carriage,  and  did  not  look  at  him 
or  notice  his  extended  hand. 

"Never  mind  about  those,  Nina,"  said 
Mrs.  Wyverne,  from  the  shadow  of  the  por- 
tico.  "  I  will  send  Ellen  out  for  them.  If 
you  are  as  tired  as  I  am,  you  will  not  care  to 
bother  about  any  thing  of  the  kind.  I  am 
going  to  order  some  iced  tea  at  once.  How 
refreshing  it  is  to  get  home  after  such  a  day ! 
— Don't  you  think  it  is  very  warm,  Mr.  Mar- 
tindale  ?  " 

But  Martindale  did  not  answer — in  fact, 
he  did  not  hear  the  question.  He  was  look- 
ing at  Nina,  who  at  last  descended  from  the 
carriage  somewhat  reluctantly,  and  without 
his  assistance.  Her  delay  was  its  own  pun- 
ishment, however,  for,  when  she  gained  the 
portico,  Mrs.  Wyverne  had  disappeared  into 
the  house,  and  she  found  herself  alone  with 
Martindale. 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  he  said,  quickly, 
almost  imperiously.  "What  has  occurred 
that  you  are  so  changed  ?  Nina,  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this  ?  " 

"  Am  I  changed  ?  "  asked  Nina.  She 
gave  a  short  laugh.  "  If  you  will  come  into 
the  drawing-room,  I  will  tell  you  the  meaning 
of  it — perhaps  it  is  better  over  at  once." 

She  turned  and  led  the  way  across  the 
large,  cool  hall  into  the  drawing-room,  full 
just  then  of  a  wonderful  sunset  glow,  which 
streamed  through  the  wide  western  windows. 
As  she  paused  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  and 
turned  toward  Martindale,  this  glory  seemed 
to  surround  her  like  a  luminous  atmosphere, 
lighting  her  hair  into  more  than  Titianesque 
richness,  and  giving  her  face  a  beauty  that 
he  never  forgot.  He  almost  caught  his 
breath.  At  that  moment  he  could  think  of 
nothing  but  the  loveliness  which  in  this  very 
spot  had  first  fascinated  him. 

"  Nina ! "  he  cried,  "  if  I  could  only  paint 
you  as  you  stand  there  now,  what  a  picture  it 
would  make  !  My  darling,  my  beautiful  dar- 
ling, what  a  sensation  you  will  create  in  the 
world ! " 

"  I  shall  never  go  into  the  world  ! "  said 


Nina,  bitterly.  It  was  better  to  get  it  over 
at  once,  she  thought,  especially  since  the  old 
wild  thrill  leaped  into  longing  life  at  his 
words.  "  That  was  what  I  came  to  say,"  she 
went  on,  facing  him  with  great,  steady,  lus- 
trous eyes.  "  It  must  all  end.  I  shall  never 
go  into  the  world.  I  shall  stay  here  and 
marry  Ralph." 

She  uttered  the  last  words  bravely,  though 
a  great  choking  wave  seemed  to  rise  up  in 
her  throat.  It  was  as  if  her  own  hand  rolled 
a  stone  to  the  door  of  her  sepulchre.  Stay 
at  Wyverne  and  marry  Ralph  !  A  picture  of 
what  her  life  would  be  rose  before  her  as  she 
uttered  the  words.  The  suffocating  sense 
which  had  oppressed  her  in  the  morning  came 
back.  The  dreary  monotony  of  days  and 
years  seemed  stretching  before  her.  Looking 
at  Martindale,  she  felt  a  strange  mixture  of 
relief  and  anger  to  see  that  he  was  smiling. 

"Stay  here  and  marry  Ralph!"  he  re- 
peated, and  her  ear  caught  the  vibration  of 
absolute  amusement  in  his  tone.  "  Is  that 
all  that  is  the  matter  ?  Carissima!  you  star- 
tled me  horribly.  1  feared — I  scarcely  knew 
what,  from  your  manner.  Trust  to  me,  sweet 
one,  and  don't  disquiet  yourself  like  this. 
Remember  that  it  is  too  late  to  talk  of  ending 
any  thing  now.  You  have  placed  your  life  in 
my  hands,  and  I  will  take  care  of  it." 

"  I  have  not  placed  my  life  in  your  hands," 
said  Nina.  It  was  impossible  to  say  whether 
she  felt  most  strongly  repelled  or  strangely 
fascinated  by  this  haughty  dictation.  "  I 
was  only  mad  enough  to — to  forget  what  I 
owe  Ralph.  But  I  remember  it  now.  Such 
a  faith  as  mine  is  poor  indeed  to  give  him, 
but  he  thinks  it  something,  and  I — I  cannot 
undeceive  him.  It  is  better  to  let  him  be 
happy  with  an  unworthy  wife,  than  to  make 
him  miserable  by  telling  him  what  I  am." 

"  This  is  all  nonsense,"  said  Martindale, 
coolly.  "  I  told  you,  before  I  had  any  reason 
whatever  to  believe  you  loved  me,  that  I 
meant  to  win  you,  Nina.  Do  you  seriously 
think  that  now— now  that  you  have  assured 
me  in  word,  and  look,  and  tone,  of  your  love 
— that  I  will  give  you  up  at  any  bidding  under 
Heaven  ?  " 

"You  will  have  no  choice  but  to  give  me 
up  at  my  own !  "  said  Nina,  becoming  haughty 
in  turn. 

But  he  only  laughed — laughed  as  he  might 
have  done  at  the  petulance  of  a  child,  "  Sweet- 
heai't,"  he  said,  "  is  it  possible  you  are  so 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


35 


foolish  as  not  to  see  that  you  have  gone  too 
far  to  turn  back?  It  is  natural  that  you 
should  feel  in  this  way — I  expected  it — but  it 
is  childish  to  imagine  that,  because  you  opened 
a  dam,  you  can  stop  a  flood.  We  may  alter 
circumstances,  but  we  cannot  control  them. 
You  are  mine.  It  is  too  late  to  talk  of  mar- 
rying Ralph  Vv'yverne  now." 

"  It  is  not  too  late  for  any  thing  I  may 
choose  to  do,"  said  Nina,  with  a  flash  of  her 
old  defiance.  "  I  have  been  a  fool,  I  know," 
she  went  on,  bitterly.  "  I  have  let  you  amuse 
yourself  with  me  to  the  top  of  your  bent " — 
her  lip  curled  in  that  self-contempt  which,  to 
a  proud  nature,  is  of  all  things  on  earth  the 
hardest  to  endure — "  but  I  am  not  quite  ready 
to  let  you  dictate  what  my  whole  life  shall 
be.  Our  flirtation,  or  whatever  you  may 
choose  to  call  it,  is  at  an  end." 

"  Our  flirtation  ended  some  time  ago," 
said  Martindale,  quietly;  but  she  caught  a 
sudden  gleam  in  his  eyes  as  the  handsome 
brows  above  them  knitted.  "  Our  engage- 
ment, however,  will  not  end  until  you  are  my 
wife." 

"  I  shall  never  be  your  wife  !  "  said  Xina, 
passionately.  It  was  impossible  to  under- 
stand this  girl.  She  scarcely  understood  her- 
self— she  scarcely  knew  what  she  wished,  de- 
sired, or  intended  to  do.  Just  then  she  re- 
belled against  the  power  which  Martindale 
assumed,  as  she  had  rebelled  against  her  life 
and  all  the  circumstances  of  it.  Ralph's  ca- 
ressing tenderness  came  back  to  her.  After 
all,  she  was  not  sure  that  she  did  not  prefer  a 
subject  to  a  master.  "  I  will  never  be  your 
wife ! "  she  repeated,  with  a  glow  of  added 
color  on  her  face,  a  flash  of  new  light  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Will  you  not  ?  "  said  Martindale.  He 
could  have  laughed  at  the  foolish  coquetry 
which  fancied  that  it  could  play  fast  and 
loose  with  him,  but  he  was  also  angry — so 
angry,  that  Nina  was  startled  by  the  white 
sternness  which  came  over  his  face.  "Again 
I  tell  you  that  this  is  folly  ! "  he  said.  "  I  do 
not  doubt  that  you  are  like  all  the  rest  of  your 
sex — more  than  ready  to  make  a  fool  of  any 
man  who  chooses  to  give  you  bis  love  for  a 
playtbing — but  you  will  not  make  either  a 
fool  or  a  plaything  of  me.  You  will  be  my 
tcife  !  I  have  told  you  so  before,  I  tell  you 
so  again.  You  do  not  half  know  me,  Nina, 
if  you  fancy  that  any  thing  can  stand  be- 
tween us  now  !" 


No,  she  did  not  half  know  him.  Some- 
thing hke  a  realization  of  that  came  to  Nina 
as  she  looked  at  the  face  before  her — a  pas- 
sionate, stern  face,  with  the  resolution  in  it 
deepening  as  she  gazed,  until  duller  eyes 
might  have  read  a  determination  which  would 
heed  no  obstacles  to  its  end. 

"  I  havebroug'at  this  on  myself,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  no  right  to  complain.  But  you  have 
no  right  to  speak  so  to  me.  I  have  forgotten 
a  great  deal  for  you,  but  I  cannot  forget  every 
thing." 

"  And  yet  that  is  what  you  must  do  ! " 
he  said.  "  You  must  forget  every  thing  and 
everybody  connected  with  your  past  life,  and 
come  with  me.  You  must  not  look  back  and 
try  to  reconcile  the  past  with  the  future.  It 
can  never  be  !  "  Then  he  took  her  hands  and 
dre.v  her  to  him  —  more  compellingly  than 
tenderly.  "  Let  us  have  done  with  this  ! " 
he  said.  "  Nina,  you  are  mine  !  Do  you  not 
love  me  well  enough  to  be  glad  of  it  ?  " 

But  Nina  drew  back. 

"  How  can  I  be  yours,"  she  said,  "  when 
I  am  engaged  to  Ralph  ?  Surely  "  (with  a 
bitter  laugh)  "  I  cannot  belong  to  both  of 
you.  I  say  again,  that  I  have  been  mad  and 
foolish,  but  I  never  meant  to  marry  you. 
You  ought  to  know  that." 

"  You  mean  that  you  have  been  deliber- 
ately trifling  with  me ! "  said  he,  a  dark  fire 
gathering  in  his  eye,  a  red  flush  mounting 
to  his  brow. 

"  If  I  did  mean  that,"  said  she,  with  a 
flash  of  spirit,  "  you  would  have  no  right  to 
complain.  Did  you  not  intend  to  trifle  with 
me,  when  you  remained  here  after  having  told 
Ralph  that  his  '  idea '  was  worth  nothing  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  he,  quietly.  "  I  never 
meant  to  trifle  with  you.  I  stayed  here  sim- 
ply and  solely  because  I  loved  you  and  meant 
to  win  you." 

"  And  do  you  call  that  honorable  to 
Ralph  ?  "  said  she,  indignantly. 

"  Ralph  ! "  repeated  he,  contemptuously. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  thought  of  Ralph  ?  I 
only  thought  of  you,  Nina  !  Ralph  was  mere- 
ly the  stepping  -  stone  by  whicli  I  reached 
you." 

"  Poor  Ralph  !  "  said  Nina.  She  put  her 
hand  quickly  to  her  eyes.  What  right  had 
she  to  blame  Martindale  when  she  considered 
how  unscrupulously  she  had  used  and  abused 
Ralph's  great  faith  in  her  ?  A  flood  of  remorse 
seemed  suddenly  to  rush  over  her.   The  hand- 


26 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


some,  imperious  face  before  her  vanished 
away ;  Kalph's  loving  eyes  came  bade.  At 
that  moment  she  forgot  the  fair,  broad  free- 
dom of  the  world  wliicli  lay  beyond  these 
quiet  shades.  She  only  thought  of  the  love 
■which  haii  been  disregarded,  of  the  trust 
which  had  been  betrayed.  If  she  walked  on 
to  the  life  which  was  awaiting  her — the  life 
whose  possibilities  set  her  blood  in  a  glow — 
she  felt  that  she  must  walk  over  Ralph's 
heart.  Could  she  do  that  ?  There  are  many 
women — some  of  whom  would  doubtless  think 
themselves  much  better  than  poor  Nina — who 
would  not  have  hesitated  an  instant  over 
such  a  necessity.  But,  with  all  her  faults 
and  impulses,  Nina  did  hesitate.  In  fact,  she 
did  more  than  hesitate.  She  cried  out  pas- 
sionately :  "  We  have  both  betrayed  his  trust 
in  us — but  I  am  the  most  to  blame !  I  can 
try  to  atone  by  keeping  faith  with  him  ;  but, 
oh,  what  an  atonement  it  will  be  !  " 

"  It  would  be  a  foolish  self-sacrifice  that 
could  only  end  by  making  him  as  wretched  as 
it  would  make  you ! "  said  Martindale.  "  Nina, 
can  you  not  recognize  the  folly  of  all  this  ? 
Why  should  you  waste  your  strength  against 
the  inevitable  ?  You  could  as  soon  call  back 
the  sun,  which  has  just  set,  into  mid-heaven, 
as  set  aside  the  consequences  which  must 
flow  from  an  accomplished  fact.  We  can 
none  of  us  escape  the  necessity  of  giving  as 
well  as  of  receiving  pain.  If  we  paused  at 
every  step  in  life  to  think  what  heart  we 
should  crash,  we  would  never  be  likely  to 
advance.  You  were  born  to  crush  hearts  !" 
he  said,  with  a  proud,  passionate  tenderness. 
"  Just  now  you  must  choose  between  mine 
and  Ralph's.     Which  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  owe  you  what  I  owe  Ralph," 
said  Nina,  looking  up. 

But,  all  the  same,  she  felt  that  she  had 
failed  in  this  first  contest  of  opposing  wills. 


CHAPTER  V. 

But  this  first  contest  was  only  the  key- 
note of  a  struggle  to  come — a  struggle  which 
grew  in  intensity  day  by  day,  as  the  time  for 
Nina's  marriage  approached,  and,  as  Martin- 
dale  began  to  realize  that  it  would  prove  more 
diflScult  than  he  im;>,gined  to  sway  her  to  his 
purpose.  He  found  that  a  change  had  come 
over  the  girl — a  change  which  struck  below 
the  surface,  and  which  puzzled  even  while  it 


angered  him.  For  a  while  he  doubted  its 
genuineness :  it  was  nothing  more  than  an 
impulse  of  generosity,  he  thought,  or  else  one 
of  those  tricks  of  coquetry  which  women  of 
all  ages  and  all  countries  understand  so  well. 
But,  as  time  went  on,  he  could  no  longer  treat 
it  with  nonchalant  coolness  ;  he  was  forced 
to  believe  that  Nina  was  in  earnest  when  she 
declared  her  intention  of  keeping  faith  with 
Ralph.  It  was  then  that  he  began  to  appre- 
ciate how  much  he  had  overrated  his  infiu- 
ence  with  her.  It  was  then  that  he  first  be- 
gan to  understand  that  she  had  only  meant 
to  amuse  herself — only  meant  to  feed  her 
vanity  and  test  her  power  with  his  homage — 
and  that,  although  she  had  been  drawn,  by 
the  strong  force  of  will  rather  than  by  the 
strong  force  of  attraction,  further  than  she 
intended,  she  had  never  seriously  meant  to 
surrender  for  his  sake  any  one  of  the  substan- 
tial advantages  which  opened  before  her  as 
Ralph  Wyverne's  wife. 

At  least  this  was  Martindale's  way  of  put- 
ting it.  Recognizing  with  a  start  that  he  had 
never  wakened  moi-e  than  that  flattered  fancy 
which  the  impressionable  heart  of  a  girl  yields 
readily  enough  to  the  first  comer,  and  that 
in  this  fancy  there  was  no  element  of  that 
love  which  heeds  no  obstacles  to  its  end,  he 
did  not  recognize  how  much  the  girl  had  to 
resist  in  her  eager  longing  for  the  world,  and 
those  things  of  the  world  which  he  embodied. 
Finding  that  she  stood  firm  in  her  resolution 
of  marrying  Ralph,  it  would  be  hard  to  say 
how  much  of  foiled  desire,  of  wounded  vanity, 
and  outraged  bitterness,  gathered  in  his  con- 
sideration of  the  manner  in  which  she  had 
"  trifled  "  with  him.  No  man  likes  his  own 
weapons  to  be  turned  against  him  in  such 
fashion ;  but  Martindale  liked  it  less  even 
than  most  men.  He  had  good  reason  for 
thinking  that  he  knew  the  world  more  than 
ordinarily  well,  and  he  felt  deeply  that  he  had 
been  "  made  a  fool  of"  by  a  girl  whose  expe- 
rience of  society  began  and  ended  in  the  stag- 
nant country  neighborhood  around  her.  If 
this  pang  of  mortified  vanity — keen  as  it  was 
— had  been  all  the  trouble,  however,  he  might 
have  shaken  the  dust  of  Wyverne  off  his  feet 
in  disgust,  and  left  Nina  to  the  fate  she  had 
chosen.  Unfortunately,  however,  there  were 
graver  passions  in  reserve — passions  that  be- 
gan to  rouse  themselves  in  ominous  sternness 
when  he  saw  the  beautiful  prize,  whii|Ji,he 
had  determined   to  call  his  own,  in   danjger    ^ 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


27 


of  passing  from  him.  Never  before  had  it 
seemed  so  well  worth  winning !  Never  had 
Nina  seemed  so  well  worth  any  sacrifice  or 
exertion,  as  when  she  set  her  will  against  his 
own,  and  declared  her  intention  of  fulfilling 
her  engagement !  Never  had  his  determina- 
tion waxed  greater  than  when  she  enraged 
him  by  an  opposition  on  which  he  had  not 
counted,  by  a  defiance  of  which  he  had  not 
dreamed !  And,  in  order  that  this  determi- 
nation may  be  appreciated  at  its  full  value,  it 
must  be  said  that  Martindale  was  troubled 
with  singularly  few  scruples,  and  that  he  pos- 
sessed in  marked  degree  a  resolution  so  in- 
domitable that  he  had  learned  to  think  it 
invincible.  Add  to  this,  intense  passions,  to- 
gether with  a  very  small  amount  of  what 
phrenologists  call  "  conscientiousness,"  and 
the  most  tranquil  ignorance  might  imagine 
that  the  combination  could  not  fail  to  be  dan- 
gerous, let  it  be  veiled  by  never  so  much  of 
that  graceful  indifference  which  our  nine- 
teenth-century civilization  has  taught  its  men 
and  women  to  cultivate.  Vesuvius  is  none 
the  less  Vesuvius  because  gardens  are  planted 
on  its  slope;  the  volcano  is  not  extinct,  and, 
when  its  lava  bursts  forth,  the  gardens  fare 
but  ill. 

It  is  useless  to  say  that,  if  Nina  had 
known  any  thing  of  the  character  of  the  man 
with  whom  she  had  "  amused "  herself,  she 
might  have  felt  that  he  was  right  in  telling 
her  that  it  was  too  late  to  think  of  disowning 
the  consequences  of  her  folly,  too  late  to 
dream  of  atonement  to  Ralph,  too  late  for 
any  attempt  at  controlling  the  demon  of  cir- 
cumstance she  had  evoked.  But  she  was  too 
inexperienced  to  form  any  judgment  of  char- 
acter in  the  concrete.  Judging  in  the  ab- 
stract, she  conceived  Martindale  to  be  like 
all  other  men  of  his  class  of  whom  she  had 
heard  and  read,  quick  enough  to  amuse  him- 
self with  a  pretty  face,  but  ready  enough  also 
to  see  when  the  amusement  was  over,  and  to 
go  his  way  with  due  philosophy  and  an  un- 
broken heart.  Strong  passions  and  desperate 
deeds  were  quite  out  of  fashion  nowadays, 
she  thought.  It  was  only  in  old  romances 
that  men  were  incited  to  either  or  both  by 
the  magic  of  a  woman's  fair  face.  Other 
people  besides  Nina  think  these  things.  Other 
people,  also,  wake  to  find  that  this  old,  wicked 
human  nature  of  ours  is  the  same  to-day  as 
yesterday,  the  same  yesterday  as  three  hun- 
dred or  three  thousand  years  ago. 


Yet,  despite  this  comfortable  assurance, 
these  days  were  very  terrible  to  Nina.  The 
girl  felt  as  if  she  moved  in  a  vague,  dreadful 
mist.  She  was  living  a  dual  life,  and  she 
sometimes  stopped  to  ask  herself  which  of 
the  two  existences  was  real.     On  one  side 

« 

was  all  the  preparation  for  her  marriage — 
that  preparation  which  agitates  the  ordinary 
feminine  mind  and  the  ordinary  domestic 
household  so  deeply — Mrs.  Wyverne's  ani- 
mated bustle  over  the  ii'oitssemi,  the  wedding- 
cards,  the  wedding-breakfast — every  thing 
connected  with  the  wedding,  in  fact — and 
Ralph's  quiet  but  tender  certainty  of  happi- 
ness. On  the  other  was  Martindale's  fiery 
passion,  his  vehement  pleading,  his  arbitrary 
assertions  of  power,  the  struggle  ever  re- 
newed yet  never  ended,  and,  above  all,  the 
alluring  temptation  of  freedom — freedom  so 
near  that  she  had  but  to  stretch  out  her  hand 
and  take  it,  yet  so  far  away,  since  she  could 
not  harden  her  heart  suSiciently  to  stretch 
out  that  hand. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  bright  cheek 
grew  pale,  or  that  dark  circles  sprung  for  the 
first  time  into  existence  under  the  sunny  eyes, 
even  during  this  short  fortnight.  Pew  of  us 
have  not  learned  to  our  cost  how  much  of 
emotion  can  be  compressed  into  the  space  of 
a  few  days — naj',  even  of  a  few  hours.  And, 
epicurean  though  she  was,  Nina  suffered  as 
she  enjoyed — with  her  whole  soul.  She  had 
never  mastered — it  is  doubtful  if  by  any  pos- 
sibility she  ever  could  have  mastered — the 
phlegmatic  impassibility  which  is  the  grand 
talisman  of  selfish  happiness.  Hers  was  a 
wholly  different  temperament  —  a  tempera- 
ment that,  for  all  its  intense  love  of  pleasure, 
could  not  divorce  its  energy  even  from  pain, 
and,  despite  its  fitful  waywardness,  pos- 
sessed impulses  of  generosity  that  scarcely 
hesitated  at  any  height  of  self-sacrifice. 
"  You  may  make  this  sacrifice,"  Martindale 
said,  "  but  you  will  not  have  strength  enough 
to  abide  by  it."  And,  in  trutli,  this  was  where 
Nina  failed.  She  had  suflScient  enthusiasm 
and  unselfishness  for  a  quick  martyrdom ; 
but,  for  that  slow  martyrdom  of  the  soul 
which  wc  call  the  death  of  hope,  she  possessed 
neither  courage  nor  strength.  An  observation 
less  keen  than  Martindale's  might  have  pre- 
dicted that,  if  she  married  Ralph  "Wyverne, 
she  would  not  even  sink  into  the  apathy  which 
with  many  women  does  duty  for  resignation, 
but  would  rather  eat  out  her  heart  in  loncc- 


28 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


iugs  and  desires  as  bilter  as  tliey  were  fruit- 
less. 

Time,  which  stands  still  for  no  man,  rolled 
swiftly  on,  meanwhile,  and  the  date  appointed 
for  the  marriage  drew  very  near.  During 
these  days,  the  household  at  Wyverne  sav? 
but  little  of  Martindale.  All  of  the  day,  and 
most  of  the  night,  he  spent  in  the  laboratory, 
generally  working  with  closed  doors.  Even 
Ralph  knew  little  of  what  he  was  about.  In 
fact,  just  then  Ralph  was  thinking  of  other 
thing?.  The  near  approach  of  matrimony 
banished  even  chemistry  from  his  mind — be- 
sides which,  Mr.  Wyverne  chanced  to  be 
"  laid  up  "  with  an  attack  of  gout ;  and  this 
indisposition  naturally  threw  an  added  amount 
of  business  into  his  son's  hands.  In  days  of 
well-organized  labor,  it  was  no  trifle  to  keep 
the  eye  of  a  master  on  two  large  plantations ; 
but  in  these  days  the  necessity  of  supervision 
is  increased  by  ten-  if  not  by  twenty-fold. 
Hence  Ralph  was  busy,  and  business  dulls 
men's  faculties  of  observation.  He  had  only 
a  vague  idea  of  what  Martindale  was  doing, 
and,  although  he  saw  that  Nina  was  looking 
rather  pale,  he  thought  that  it  would  be  "  all 
right"  after  they  were  married,  and  had  left 
home  for  that  change  of  air  which  is  con- 
sidered beneficial  for  newly-married  people. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  Martindale 
to-day,  Nina?  "  he  asked  one  afternoon  when 
he  had  come  in  tired  from  a  ride  of  several 
miles,  and  flung  himself  at  luxurious  full 
length  on  a  couch  in  the  hall,  where  Nina 
chanced  to  be  sitting. 

"  Verj  little,"  she  answered,  quietly.  Her 
hands  were  clasped  idly  over  a  novel  which 
she  had  not  been  reading,  her  eyes  gazed 
wistfully  out  of  the  broad,  open  door  to  the 
afternoon  lights  and  shadows  that  were 
checkering  the  lawn  beyond.  Just  then  it 
occurred  to  her  with  a  thrill  of  relief  that 
there  were  only  three  more  days  of  this  to  be 
endured.  Three  days  hence  she  would  be 
married  and  gone — never  likely,  she  hoped 
and  trusted,  to  see  Martindale  again. 

"  I  must  go  down  and  look  in  on  that  fel- 
low," Ralph  was,  meanwhile,  saying  lazily. 
"  He  told  me  yesterday  that  he  was  devoting 
himself  to  my  experiments,  and  had  made 
some  progress  in  them.  He  seems  wonder- 
fully well  satisfied  with  his  quarters.  He 
says  he  has  never  before  been  able  to  test  in 
a  thoroughly  satisfactory  manner  some  ideas 
of  his  own.     I  told  him  I  hoped  he  would 


stay  here  while  we  were  gone,  and,  when  we 
come  back,  I  shall  be  more  at  leisure,  and  we 
can  go  over  the  result  of  all  that  he  has  done." 

"  Ralph  !  " — it  was  a  low,  quivering  cry 
that  absolutely  made  Ralph  start — "  you  sure- 
ly have  not  done  such  a  thing  as  that  ?  You 
surely  have  not  asked  that  man  to  stay  here 
when  you  know  how  much  I — I  distrust  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Ralph.  He  was  quite 
astonished,  and  raised  himself  on  his  elbow. 
"  I  am  sorry  if  you  don't  like  it,"  he  went  on, 
after  a  moment,  "  but  really,  Nina,  I  had  no 
idea  that  your  dislike  of  Martindale  went  so 
far  as  this.  I  am  sure  he  thinks  very  highly 
ofyoic,  and — " 

"  I  did  not  say  that  I  disliked  him,  Ralph," 
she  interrupted,  with  a  painful  flush,  "  but 
that  I  distrust  him.  I  do  not  think  his  ex- 
periments will  ever  come  to  any  thing,  and  I 
am  sorry  there  is  any  prospect  of  his  being 
here  when  we  return.  I — I  was  only  just 
thinking  that  it  would  be  a  relief  to  be  alone." 

"  I  wonder  I  did  not  think  of  that  my- 
self," said  Ralph,  looking  as  much  discom- 
fited as  a  large  Newfoundland  does  when,  by 
some  piece  of  amateur  sagacity,  he  incurs 
scolding  instead  of  commendation.  "  It  was 
stupid  of  me,  but  I  really  did  not  think  that 
Martindale  mattered.  I  thought  you  had 
grown  to  like  him  famously — and  then  the 
chemistry,  Nina !  I  should  like  to  go  to  that 
in  earnest  when  we  come  back." 

"Can't  you  go  to  it  by  your.self?"  asked 
Nina.  But  she  heaved  a  weary  sigh.  She 
knew  that  even  her  influence  reckoned  for 
nothing  when  opposed  to  that  of  chemistry. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Ralph,  doubt- 
fully. "  You  see  I  have  been  so  busy  that  I 
have  not  been  able  to  keep  up  with  what 
Martindale  is  doing.  Unless  he  is  here  when 
I  come  back,  therefore,  his  having  been  here 
at  all  will  have  done  me  little  good." 

"  Why  did  you  bring  him,  then  ?  "  said 
Nina.  Her  hands  wrung  themselves  tightly 
together.  How  lightly  and  idly  this  had  been 
done  which  had  changed  the  whole  current 
and  meaning  of  her  life ! 

"I  have  told  you  all  about  that,"  said 
Ralph,  sinking  back  on  his  cusliions.  "  I 
was  sorry  for  having  brought  him  when  I 
found  you  did  not  like  him,  and  I  am  still 
more  sorry  for  having  so  thoughtlessly  asked 
him  to  prolong  his  visit ;  but  I  can't  get  out 
of  it  now,  you  know,"  said  the  honest,  hos- 
pitable fellow. 


NLVA'S   ATOXEMEXT. 


29 


"  One  can't  ask  one's  guest  to  leave,  cer- 
tainly," said  X'ina,  bitterly.  "  But  the  guest 
himself  may  sometimes  have  discretion  enough 
to  see  that  it  would  be  well  to  do  so." 

"  Xot  unless  he  perceives  that  his  pres- 
ence is  disagreeable,"  said  Ralph,  adding,  a 
little  indignantly,  "  I  would  infinitely  rather 
show  a  man  out  of  my  house  than  treat  him 
with  incivility  in  it." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  treating  him  with 
incivility,"  said  Xina,  half  absently.  "You 
ought  to  know  that,  Ralph.  X'o  one  is  more 
Arabian  in  his  ideas  of  hospitality  than  I 
am ;  but — did  Mr.  Martindale  say  that  he 
would  remain?"  she  interrupted  herself  by 
asking,  looking  quickly  at  her  cousin. 

"  He  made  a  sort  of  half  promise — his 
movements  were  uncertain  for  the  next 
month,  he  said  ;  but  he  added  that,  if  we  re- 
mained as  long  as  we  intended,  we  should 
probably  find  him  here  when  we  returned." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  after  this. 
The  drowsy  stillness  of  a  summer  afternoon 
seemed  to  brood  over  the  house ;  now  and  then 
a  gentle  snore  came  from  the  library  where 
Mr.  Wyverne  was  enjoying  a  siesta  ;  a  few  flies 
were  lazily  buzzing  about — Keeper,  the  great 
mastiff,  snapped  at  them  occasionally ;  the 
last  rays  of  the  sun  were  streaming  across  the 
terrace,  and  reddening  the  cedar-hedge.  Xina 
watched  it  all  as  in  a  dream.  She  was  won- 
dering what  Martindale  meant,  and  how  she 
could  best  prevent  any  thing  so  terrible  as  it 
would  be  to  find  him  at  Wyverne  when  she 
came  back  from  her  bridal  tour. 

After  a  while  she  rose.  Ralph  was  tired, 
and,  finding  himself  in  a  very  comfortable 
position,  he  had  fallen  asleep  with  that  air  of 
supreme,  restful  enjoyment  which  we  notice 
in  the  slumbers  of  children  and  dogs.  With 
one  glance  at  his  placid,  unconscious  face, 
Nina  took  her  garden-hat  from  a  table  near 
by,  and  went  out  of  the  open  door. 

She  walked  slowly  around  the  terrace, 
pondering  whether  or  not  she  was  wise  in 
seeking  Martindale,  as  a  sudden  impulse 
prompted  her  to  do.  For  several  days  she 
had  studiously  avoided  the  garden,  where 
most  of  their  interviews  had  taken  place.  The 
scenes  of  passionate  struggle,  which  at  first 
had  been  so  exciting  and  pleasant,  had  of  late 
wearied  and  torn  and  terrified  her  all  at  once. 
Tlie  old  legends  are  right :  "  It  is  much  easier 
to  raise  a  fiend  than  to  put  him  down  ao-ain  ; " 
and  there  are  instances  around  us  every  dav 
3 


of  people  who,  having  tried  the  experiment, 
fiire  as  badly  as  their  incautious  predecessors 
of  the  middle  ages. 

Xina,  unluckily  for  herself,  was  one  of 
these.  The  fiend  which  she  had  raised  proved 
totally  beyond  her  powers  of  management. 
The  stormy  and  exacting  devotion  for  which 
she  had  longed  was  not  half  so  entertaining 
as  she  had  imagined  it  would  be.  During 
these  days,  she  had  turned  more  than  once 
with  a  sense  of  absolute  relief  to  Ralph's  quiet 
affection  and  unwavering  trust.  As  she  went 
her  way  now — down  the  terrace  -  steps  and 
along  the  garden-paths — she  felt  a  shrinking 
in  every  fibre  from  the  scene  before  her.  Her 
whole  pleasure-loving  nature  rose  up  in  re- 
volt against  the  pain  and  vexation  which 
seemed  to  encompass  her.  "  It  is  infamous ! 
— he  has  no  right  to  torment  me  so ! "  she 
said,  setting  her  white  teeth  and  clinching 
her  soft  hands.  "  I  will  not  submit  to  it  any 
longer." 

As  she  uttered  these  words  half  aloud, 
she  turned  into  a  path  that  led  directly  to  the 
pavilion.  It  stood  clearly  before  her  at  the 
end  of  the  vista,  a  pretty  and  appropriate  ad- 
junct to  the  luxuriant,  old-fashioned  garden. 
As  she  strolled  slowly  along — her  steps  un- 
consciously growing  more  lagging  as  she  ap. 
proached — she  saw  a  juvenile  factotum  of  the 
establishment,  black  in  color  and  Jack  by 
name,  emerge  from  the  laboratory  and  ad- 
vance along  the  path  toward  her,  swinging 
something  in  his  hand.  What  this  was  she 
could  not  distinguish  until,  as  he  drew  near, 
it  proved  to  be  a  dead  cat ;  which  no  sooner 
did  Miss  Dalzell  perceive,  than  she  promptly 
and  imperiously  collared  the  bearer: 

"  Where  did  that  come  from.  Jack  ?  "  she 
demanded.     "  What  are  you  doing  with  it  ?  " 

"Mr.  Martindale  killed  him,  and  telled  me 
to  take  him  and  fling  him  away,"  said  Jack, 
who  had  a  wholesome  fear  of  being  arraigned 
for  cruelty  at  the  bar  of  "  Miss  X'ina's  "  indig- 
nant justice. 

"  Mr.  Martindale  killed  it ! ''  repeated 
X'ina.  She  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  "  How 
dare  you  tell  me  such  a  falsehood  ? "  when 
she  remembered  that  the  boy  had  come  down 
the  laboratory-steps,  which  gave  at  least  a 
plausible  air  to  the  statement.  "Why  did 
Mr.  Martindale  kill  it  ?  "  she  asked,  suspicious- 
ly. "Is  it  not  your  mother's  cat?  Jack,  if 
you  are  telling  me  what  is  not  so — " 

"  I  ain't  a-tellin'  you  what  ain't  so,  Miss. 


30 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


Nina,"  said  Jack,  filled  with  a  sense  of  vir- 
tuous innocence.  "  Mammy  said  Mr.  Martin- 
dale  might  liave  old  Tom  for  a  dollar,  au'  he 
tole  me  to  fotch  him  along,  an'  I  done  it,  an' 
he  killed  Iiim." 

"IIow  did  he  kill  him?"  demanded  Nina. 
She  still  looked  at  the  speaker  with  an  air  of 
suspicion,  which  Jack  felt  to  be  hard  to  bear. 

"  I  dunno  'xactly  how,"  he  answered, 
shuffling  one  bare,  black  foot  in  the  sand. 
"  He  never  done  nothiu'  to  him.  He  jist  put 
him  under  some  kind  of  a  glass  thing,  an'  he 
dropped  right  down  dead,  as  if  he'd  a  bin 
shot." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  is  dead,"  said  Nina.  She 
examined  the  lax,  inanimate  form  with  tender 
fingers,  while  Jack  looked  on  without  much 
wonder ;  he  knew  "  Miss  Nina's  ways."  But 
it  was  all  in  vain.  Science  had  done  its  work. 
Poor  Tom  was  hopelessly  dead ;  so,  bidding 
Jack  give  liim  decent  burial,  Nina  turned  and 
walked  away. 

She  could  not  go  to  the  laboratory  after 
that.  It  was  not  only  that  she  was  revolted 
— unreasonably  revolted,  perhaps,  after  the 
manner  of  people  who  have  not  the  love  or 
the  advancement  of  science  at  heart — by  the 
cruelty  of  which  she  had  just  heard,  but  a 
sudden  strange  sense  of  terror  came  over  her. 
She  told  herself  that  it  was  irrational,  but  she 
could  not  reason  it  away.  Of  course,  she  had 
always  known  what  deadly  forces  lurked  in 
chemistry ;  she  had  also  been  aware  that  Mar- 
tindale,  in  pursuit  of  an  "idea"  of  his  own, 
had  been  experimenting  for  some  time  in  poi- 
sonous gases ;  and  she  knew,  as  everybody 
knows,  how  ruthlessly  the  devotees  of  science 
sacrifice  God's  helpless  creatures  on  their 
altar.  But,  despite  all  this,  she  could  not 
drive  away  that  chill  sense  of  impending  evil 
which  had  come  so  suddenly,  and  with  which 
we  are  all  familiar — which  we  call  a  presenti- 
ment when  it  is  fulfilled,  and  which  we  forget 
with  so  much  ease  when  it  is  unfulfilled.  She 
was  aware  that  it  probably  arose  from  her 
own  overwrought  frame  of  mind ;  yet,  when 
she  turned  aside  and  sat  down  in  a  little  rose- 
arbor,  her  heart  was  beating  like  that  of  some 
frightened  wild  creature.  The  sun  was  gone 
by  this  time,  and  the  lovely,  fragrant  twilight 
had  fallen  over  the  earth.  But  Nina  had  no 
heed  for  it.  "I  am  a  fool!"  she  thought, 
angrily.  "  I  am  worse  than  a  fool !  But  how 
terrible — oh,  how  terrible — for  any  one  to 
lidld  such  power  as  that !  "  Then  she  thought : 


"  He  must  go  away  !  I  do  not  trust  him  ;  I 
said  I  did  not  trust  him,  from  the  first.  God 
forgive  me,  if  I  am  wronging  him,  as  we 
should  not  wrong  our  worst  enemy — but  there 
is  something  dreadful  about  him  !  I  have  felt 
that,  and  yet  I  have  told  myself  that  it  was 
folly.  But  he  must  go — even  if  I  have  to  tell 
Ralph  the  truth." 

Yet  she  felt  that,  to  tell  Ralph  the  truth, 
would  be  to  put  out  of  the  question  the  sac- 
rifice which  she  desired  to  make  for  him. 
Dearly  as  he  loved  her,  bitterly  as  it  would 
pain  him  to  surrender  her,  Ralph  Wyverne  was 
made  of  better  stuff  than  to  accept  any  wo- 
man's hand — even  that  of  the  woman  he  loved 
best  on  earth  —  if  it  were  given  imwillingly. 
If  he  had  once  known  how  Nina's  impatient 
heart  yearned  for  the  freedom  of  the  world, 
for  a  life  and  love  such  as  he  could  not  give 
her,  he  would  have  been  the  firat  to  snap 
asunder  the  link  which  bound  them  to  each 
other  ;  and  of  this  fact  no  one  was  more 
thoroughly  aware  than  the  girl  who  sat  there 
under  the  roses,  gazing  with  absent  eyes  and 
overclouded  brow  at  the  wealth  of  summer 
bloom  and  beauty  around  her 

But,  despite  the  anxious  thoughts  which 
overshadowed  her,  she  made  a  picture  that 
stirred  Martindale's  heart  into  a  tumult  of  ad- 
miration when  he  came  round  a  turn  of  the 
path  upon  her.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  white  dress  from  the  laboratory,  and  fol- 
lowed as  quickly  as  possible ;  but,  not  look- 
ing for  her  just  here,  the  sudden  spell  of  her 
loveliness  —  framed  by  the  green  vines  and 
hanging  roses — moved  him  the  more  strongly 
for  its  unexpectedness.  It  is  hard  to  define 
a  mental  sensation  of  any  kind,  but  it  is  es- 
pecially hard  to  define  the  effect  which  beau- 
ty produces  on  the  soul  of  its  worshiper,  on 
the  temperament  that  is  keenly  alive  to  its 
influence.  He  started  and  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  came  forward  quickly.  Hearing 
the  ring  of  his  tread  on  the  gravel  path,  Nina 
turned  toward  him  and  they  faced  each  other, 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you,"  he  said,  ab- 
ruptly. "  When  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  your 
dress  a  few  minutes  ago,  I  was  thinking  of 
going  to  the  house  in  search  of  you.  But 
this  is  better." 

"  You  can  have  nothing  to  say  to  me," 
said  Nina,  coldly.  "  Why  should  you  have 
gone  to  the  house  in  search  of  me  ?  But  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you,"  she  went  on, 
catching  her  breath  quickly,  and  looking  at 


NINA'S   ATONEMENT. 


31 


him  with  level,  defiant  eyes.  "That  is  why 
I  came  into  the  garden.  Ralph  has  just  told 
me  that  you  have  promised  to  stay  at  Wy- 
verne  while  we  are  gone,  and  to  be  here  when 
we  return.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  it  is 
impossible  —  that  I  will  not  submit  to  any 
thing  of  the  kind.  Sooner  than  endure  it,  I 
will  tell  him  every  thing," 

"  He  will  not  need  to  be  told  any  thing," 
said  Martindale,  quietly.  He  looked  paler 
than  usual,  and  there  were  certain  stern-cut 
lines  about  his  mouth,  the  full  significance  of 
which  Nina  had  not  yet  learned  to  appreciate. 
"  He  will  know  every  thing  sooner  and  better 
than  words  can  tell  him — for  I  have  come  to 
tell  yoii  that  this  must  end.  You  must  leave 
Wyverne  with  me  to-night,  Nina." 

"  Leave  Wyverne  with  you  to-night !  "  re- 
peated Nina.  For  a  minute  she  could  say  no 
more.  His  cool  assumption  of  a  proprietor- 
ship which  she  had  repeatedly  disowned,  ab- 
solutely stunned  her.  She  felt  outraged  and 
indignant  even  while  she  was  conscious  of  a 
horrible  sense  of  impotence.  What  could  she 
do  against  a  man  with  whom  words  went  lit- 
erally for  naught  ?  Her  own  folly  had  placed 
her  in  his  power,  and,  although  she  had  for  a 
time  defied  its  exercise,  she  has  of  late  been 
aware  of  a  growing  fear  of  Martindale.  Rea- 
son told  her  that  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  compel  her  to  anything;  but  instinct — 
sometimes  the  wisest  as  well  as  sometimes 
the  foolishest  of  guides — warned  her  that  he 
would  probably  end  by  compelling  her  to  all 
that  he  desired. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  speaking  to  me 
in  this  manner ! "  she  said,  flushing  angrily. 
"  How  often  must  I  tell  you  that  I  mean  to 
keep  my  faith  with  Ralph  at  any  cost  ?  How 
often  must  I  repeat  that  I  will  not  be  so  un- 
grateful as  to  leave  those  who  have  done 
every  thing  for  me,  for  you  who  have  done 
nothing  save  poison  my  life  with  discontent, 
and  make  me  wretched  ?  But  it  is  useless  to 
go  over  this,"  she  said,  quivering  with  excite- 
ment. "  In  three  days  I  shall  be  married, 
and  it  will  be  at  an  end.  All  that  I  came  to 
say  is — you  must  go  away  from  Wyverne  !  " 

"  I  shall  go  when  you  are  ready  to  go  with 
me,"  he  answered.  His  tone  would  have  in- 
dicated to  duller  cars  than  those  of  the  girl 
who  listened,  that  the  struggle  between  them 
had  reached  its  supreme  issue.  His  face  hard- 
ened in  resolution  as  she  looked,  but  his 
eyes  were  full  of  passionate  light.     "  Have 


you  learned  yet  that  there  is  no  power  short 
of  death  which  can  make  me  leave  you  ?  "  he 
said.  "  Nina,  have  you  not  yet  appreciated 
the  utter  folly  of  all  this  ?  You  are  mine  !  I 
will  keep  you  at  any  cost.  It  is  for  you  to 
decide  what  that  cost  shall  be." 

"  My  experience  of  men  is  limited,"  said 
Nina,  exasperated  beyond  all  power  of  for- 
bearance, "  but  I  have  never  known  or  heard 
of  a  man  who  found  it  so  difiBcult  to  under- 
stand a  plain  and  decided  refusal  as  you  seem 
to  do." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  never  known  or  heard 
of  a  man  who  himself  refused  so  decidedly  to 
be  made  the  plaything  of  feminine  caprice," 
said  Martindale.  There  was  no  indication  of 
ruffled  temper  in  his  tone,  though  she  saw  a 
quick  flash  in  the  brown  eyes.  "But  this  is 
sheer  waste  of  time,"  he  went  on,  "  and 
every  minute  is  precious.  Nina,  I  can  make 
arrangements  for  our  departure  to-night,  if 
you  will  consent  to  come  with  me.  Once  for 
all,  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Once  for  all  —  no  !  "  answered  Nina. 
She  uttered  the  last  word  with  an  emphasis 
that  startled  a  bird  in  the  top  of  the  arbor. 
It  flew  upward  with  a  shrill  cry  that  in  turn 
startled  her.  To  her  overwrought  fancy,  it 
sounded  like  a  note  of  warning. 

"  No  !  "  repeated  Martindale.  He  took 
her  hands  almost  violently  into  his  own. 
"Nina,  do  you  mean  it?"  he  said,  hoarsely. 
"  Do  you  understand  what  it  implies  ?  Do 
you  know  that  you  will  drive  me  to  do  any 
thing  to  break  off  this  accursed  marriage  ? 
For  you  love  me  —  you  cannot  deny  that. 
Neither  can  you  deny  that  you  long  for  the 
world  which  I  offer  and  can  give  you.  Nina, 
if  you  are  wise,  you  will  come  with  me  now — 
at  once ! " 

"  If  you  were  generous,  you  would  go 
away  and  leave  me,"  said  Nina,  with  a  gasp. 
She  was  touched  and  torn  by  his  vehemence, 
by  his  pale,  passionate,  pleading  face.  But 
she  stood  firm.  There  was  something  more 
than  ordinary  in  the  girl,  after  all.  She  was 
more  nearly  in  love  with  Martindale  at  that  mo- 
ment than  she  had  ever  been  before,  and  a  great 
wave  of  yearning  for  freedom  and  pleasure,  the 
sweets  of  life  and  the  gifts  of  love,  seemed  to 
rush  over  her.  But  she  thought  of  Ralph,  of 
those  who,  as  she  said,  had  "  done  every 
thing  "  for  her ;  and  her  whole  nature  rose 
up  in  rebellion  against  the  treachery  of  leav- 
ing  them  thus.     "I  cannot!"  she  said.     "I 


32 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


cannot !  Ob,  why  did  you  come  ?  Why  did 
you  not  go  away  long  ago  ?  Why  do  you  not 
leave  me  in  peace?  I  must,  I  will,  marry 
Ealph !  " 

"  You  will  never  marry  Ealph  ! "  said  he. 
"  Nina,  I  tell  you  again  that,  if  you  are  wise, 
you  will  come  with  me  to-night.  You  think 
that  you  will  work  harm  to  Ralph  Wyverne 
by  going ;  believe  me,  you  may  work  worse 
harm  to  him  by  staying." 

*'  How  can  I  work  harm  to  him  by  stay- 
ing ?  "  she  asked,  glancing  up  quickly.  Some- 
thing in  his  tone — a  menacing  accent  hard  to 
be  described  —  thrilled  her  with  a  sudden, 
vague  fear.  She  felt  herself  shiver  from  head 
to  foot  in  the  warm,  summer  dusk.  The  sus- 
picion which  had  rushed  upon  her,  without 
any  apparent  cause  a  little  while  before,  came 
back  now.  What  did  Martindale  intend  to 
imply  ?  How  could  she  work  harm  to  Ralph 
by  staying  ? 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  shrink- 
ing back  a  little.  "  You  must  be  more  ex- 
plicit if  you  wish  me  to  understand  you.  How 
can  I  work  harm  to  Ralph  by  staying  ?  " 

"  You  will  make  his  life  miserable,"  said 
Martindale.  "  The  stuff  of  which  tame,  house- 
hold martyrs  are  made,  is  not  in  you,  Nina. 
That  fiery  soul  of  yours  will  pine  like  a  caged 
eagle  when  you  are  once  Ralph  Wyverne's 
wife.  You  must  come  with  me.  For  God's 
sake,  end  this  miserable  trifling,  and  say  that 
you  will  do  so  !  Nina,  you  mnsi  come !  There 
is  no  time  to  lose.  We  must  leave  here  to- 
night. To-morrow  you  will  be  my  wife,  and, 
before  the  week  is  out,  we  shall  have  sailed 
for  Europe." 

"  No,"  said  Nina.  It  was  her  one  sheet- 
anchor — this  monosyllable — and  she  clung  to 
it  as  a  drowning  man  clings  to  the  spar  that 
may  be  his  salvation.     "No — I  cannot !  " 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  will  not?"  he 
asked.  He  dropped  her  hands  as  he  spoke, 
and  recoiled  a  step,  looking  at  her  with 
burning,  passionate  eyes,  and  pale,  set  face. 
"Nina — stop  and  think!  Do  you  mean  that 
you  icill  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  mean  that,"  she  answered.  This 
last  struggle  was  harder  than  she  had  thought 
that  it  would  be — this  last  pang  was  sharper 
than  she  had  counted  upon — but  she  felt  that, 
at  any  cost,  "  every  thing  "  must  be  ended. 
At  any  cost,  Martindale  must  learn  that  his 
further  presence  at  Wyverne  was  useless.  So 
she  threw  back  her  graceful  head  haughtily. 


"  Have  you  at  last  begun  to  realize  that  I 
mean  it?"  she  asked.  "Do  you  at  last  un- 
derstand that  I  have  never  intended  to  marry 
you?  and  that  I  have  always  intended  to 
marry  Ralph  ?  " 

There  was  a  tone  of  almost  insolent  defi- 
ance in  these  words,  which,  if  she  had  been 
wise,  would  have  been  the  Tcry  last  she  would 
have  adopted — a  tone  calculated  to  sting 
Martindale's  sensitive  pride  like  the  touch  of 
a  whip.  It's  effect  was  perceptible  in  a  mo- 
ment, even  through  his  proof-armor  of  trained 
self-command.  A  dark-red  flush  surged  over 
his  face,  then  retreated  as  quickly.  A  gleam 
of  dangerous  fire  came  into  his  eyes,  which 
did  not  retreat,  and  his  lips  set  themselves 
quickly  and  sternly  under  the  brown  mus- 
tache. For  a  minute  he  did  not  answer  ;  but 
Nina — who  had  by  this  time  learned  to  know 
something  of  the  weather-signs  of  his  face — 
shrank  a  little.  If  she  feared  violence,  she 
was  reassured,  however,  by  the  quietness  of 
the  tone  in  which  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,  I  understand  you  at  last,"  he  said. 
"  Perhaps,  indeed,  I  have  understood  you  all 
the  time  better  than  you  think.  That  you 
have  not  at  all  understood  me  is,  no  doubt,  a 
matter  of  much  less  importance.  I  have  al- 
ways thought,"  he  went  on,  with  a  short 
laugh,  "  that  the  man  who  allows  a  woman  to 
play  fast-and-loose  with  him  deserves  all  that 
falls  to  his  share  in  the  way  of  suffering  and 
mortification.  Your  candor  teaches  me  that 
I  am  quite  right.  Whoever  has  incurred  con- 
tempt cannot  be  surprised  that  it  is  bestowed 
upon  him.  Whoever  suffers  himself  to  be 
made  the  toy  of  a  woman  must  expect  to  re- 
ceive her  scorn.  There  are  some  toys  that,  in 
unskillful  hands,  prove  dangerous,  however. 
It  is  always  well  to  remember  that." 

"  I  did  not  mean — "  Nina  began  ;  but  be 
interrupted  her  imperiously,  seizing  her  hands 
again  as  one  who  claims  what  Ib  his  by  right. 

"  You  must  mean  one  thing,  or  else  noth- 
ing ! "  he  said.  "  For  the  last  time,  Nina, 
will  you  come  with  me  to-night  ?  " 

"For  the  last  time — ^no  !"  answered  Nina. 
The  word  rang  out  clearly  on  the  dewy,  fragrant 
stillness.  By  a  supreme  effort,  she  wrenched 
her  hands  out  of  his  clasp,  and  turned  from 
him.  There  was  a  spell  in  his  face  against 
which  she  could  not  harden  her  heart.  "  How 
often  must  I  repeat  it  ?  "  she  demanded,  bit- 
terly.    "  How  often  must  I  say  '  No  ! ' " 

"  You  need  not  say  it  again,"  Martindale's 


KIXA'S  ATONEMENT. 


33 


voice  answered  out  of  the  gloaming  at  her 
side.  "  I  have  been  slow  to  comprehend,  cer- 
tainly, but  I  think  I  see  at  last.  You  have 
made  your  choice,  Nina.  Remember  that  its 
consequences  rest  with  yourself." 

Those  were  his  last  words.  She  did  not 
turn  her  face  agaiu  toward  him,  but  she  heard 
bis  quick,  elastic  tread  crushing  down  the 
gravel  as  he  walked  away. 


CH^\JPTER  TI. 

TVnEN  Nina  entered  the  dining-room  an 
hour  later,  she  found  that  tea  was  over.  The 
polished  table  still  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
floor,  glittering  with  its  silver  service  and 
old-fashioned  cut-glass  dishes;  but  nobody 
was  visible  save  Price,  who  was  meditatively 
folding  a  napkin,  when  she  stepped  through 
one  of  the  long  French  windows  into  the 
room. 

"  Has  everybody  finished  supper  ?  "  she 
asked,  coming  forward,  looking  so  much  like 
a  pale  wraith  of  herself,  as  the  lamplight  fell 
over  her,  that  even  Price  noticed  it,  when  he 
started  and  turned. 

"  Yes'm — they's  all  done,"  he  answered. 
*'  Mistis  told  me  to  keep  the  table  standin' 
till  you  come  in,  but  I'm  afraid  the  coffee's 
cold.  Miss  Nina." 

"  I  think  I  will  take  some  tea,"  said  Nina, 
sitting  down  in  the  first  seat  to  which  she 
came. 

She  disliked  tea,  as  a  general  rule ;  but 
she  remembered  to  have  heard  that  it  is  a 
quicker  stimulant  than  coffee,  and  she  felt, 
just  then,  as  if  she  needed  a  stimulant — the 
quicker  the  better. 

Price  was  a  little  surprised,  but  he  was  a 
servant  of  the  old  school,  and  consequently 
too  well  bred  to  say  any  thing.  He  poured 
out  the  tea — which  was  strong  enough  to 
satisfy  the  most  dissipated  of  drinkers — and 
carried  it  to  Nina  in  a  goblet  half  filled  with 
ice,  jingling  pleasantly.  It  looked  pretty,  but 
Price,  who  held  the  fragrant  Chinese  herb  in 
low  esteem,  knew  that  it  did  not  taste  well, 
and  he  expected  an  immediate  demand  for  a 
cup  of  coffee.  Instead  of  this,  however,  his 
capricious  young  mistress  drained  the  glass, 
set  it  down  with  a  grimace,  and  rose  to  her 
feet. 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  take  somethin'  to  eat. 
Miss  Nina  ?  "  said  Price,  astonished  and  really 
concerned  at  her  appearance. 


She  shook  her  head. 

"Not  anything,"  she  answered.  "lam 
not  hungry." 

She  did  not  even  give  a  glance  at  the 
tempting  array  of  dainty  dishes  as  she  turned 
from  the  table  and  left  the  room. 

Price  watched  the  slim,  stately  figure 
across  the  hall.  Then  he  looked  at  the  empty 
goblet,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  There's  somethin'  wrong,"  said  he,  philo- 
sophically. "A  woman  with  as  good  a  appe- 
tite as  Miss  Nina  ain't  a-goin'  to  take  nothin' 
but  a  little  tea  all  of  a  sudden — an'  look  like 
death  besides — without  some  good  reason. 
I'm  thinkin'  we're  more  likely  to  have  a  spell 
o'  sickness  than  a  weddin'  here  shortly." 

Meanwhile,  Nina  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  where  she  found  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wyverne 
and  Ralph — the  two  former  playing  cards,  of 
which  Mr.  Wyverne  was  inconveniently  fond, 
the  latter  yawning  and  looking  bored  over  a 
newspaper.  At  sight  of  his  betrothed,  his 
face  brightened,  however,  and  the  uninterest- 
ing sheet  was  tossed  aside. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Nina?"  he  de- 
manded at  once.  "  I  was  setting  out  in 
search  of  you  a  little  while  ago,  but  Martin- 
dale  said  he  left  you  in  the  garden  just  before 
tea,  so  I  thought  you  would  come  in  when 
you  felt  like  it.     What  kept  you  so  late  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  particular,"  answered  Nina. 
"  It  was  cool  and  pleasant  out  there,  and  I 
did  not  care  for  tea." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  not  well,"  said 
Ralph,  getting  up  and  coming  forward;  he 
was  struck,  as  Price  had  been,  by  her  changed 
appearance.  "Let  me  look  at  you  in  the 
light.  Why,  how  pale  you  are !  Nina,  some- 
thing is  certainly  the  matter.    Are  you  sick  ?  " 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter,"  said  Nina,  She 
was  provoked  with  herself  for  being  pale,  and 
provoked  with  Ralph  for  noticing  it.  "  One 
cannot  help  one's  looks,  or  account  for  them ! " 
Then,  impatiently :  "  How  warm  it  is  in  here ! 
This  room  is  intolerable  with  its  glare  of  light. 
Let  us  go  out  on  the  terrace." 

Out  on  the  terrace  they  went  accordingly. 
A  faint,  indefinite  light  was  shining  from  a 
lovely  young  moon  hanging  in  the  western 
half  of  the  sky.  Nina  looked  more  like  a 
a  spirit  than  a  woman,  Ralph  thought,  in  this 
vague  lustre,  with  her  misty-white  dress,  out 
of  which  the  dew-damp  had  taken  all  stiff- 
ness, clinging  about  her.  Something  in  her 
appearance  reminded  him  of  the  night  when 


34 


KINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


she  had  riscu  from  the  laboratory  steps  to 
meet  Martiudale  and  himself,  and  they  had 
likened  her  to  a  fairy  ;  yet  he  felt  instinctive- 
ly that  the  difference  was  greater  than  the 
similarity. 

"Xina,"  he  said,  "  do  you  remember  your 
birthday  night — this  night  a  month  ago,  was 
it  not?  Somehow  you  put  me  in  mind  of  it 
as  you  stand  there  now.  Do  you  remember 
how  Martindale  and  I  met  you  at  the  labora- 
tory, and  how  we  told  you  that  you  looked 
like  a  fairy  ?    To-night  you  look  like  a  spirit." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  of  that  ?  "  said  Nina. 
He  was  not  prepared  for  the  shrinking  start 
which  she  gave.  "  Why  do  you  remind  me 
of  it  ?  Was  it  a  month  ago  to-night  ?  I  had 
not  thought  of  it.  How  strange  that  it  should 
be !  Ralph  "—she  turned  to  him  abruptly — 
"  do  you  believe  in  presentiments  ?  Of  course 
you  do  not,  however;  nobody  ever  does  until 
they  have  felt  them.  But  do  you  remember 
how  I  begged  you  a  month  ago  this  night  not 
to  keep  that  man  here  or  trust  to  his  experi- 
ments ?  0  Ralph,  if  you  had  only  heeded 
me!" 

"  Why  should  I  have  heeded  you  ?  "  said 
Ralph.  Even  the  passionate  vibration  in  her 
tone  did  not  rouse  his  dull  suspicion.  On  the 
contrary,  he  conceived  it  to  be  only  a  fresh 
proof  of  the  prejudice  which  is  inherent  in 
the  feminine  nature ;  and  he  felt  inclined  to 
indulge  in  a  little  masculine  triumph  over  it. 

"  As  far  as  my  experiments  are  concerned, 
it  is  a  very  good  thing  that  I  did  not  heed 
you,"  he  went  on,  with  such  a  glow  of  self- 
satisfaction  in  his  tone  that  Nina  was  half 
prepared  for  what  was  coming.  "  You  may 
take  sufficient  interest  in  them  to  be  glad  to 
hear  that  Martindale  told  me,  only  a  little  while 
ago,  that  he  at  last  sees  his  way  to  a  success- 
ful result ;  in  fact,  that  it  may  be  said  to  be 
accomplished.  He  would  tell  me  nothing  un- 
til he  was  certain,  he  said,  although  he  had 
fancied  as  much  for  some  time." 

"When  did  he  tell  you  this?"  asked 
Nina,  stopping  short  in  her  walk. 

"  Only  a  little  while  ago — when  he  came 
in  to  tea,"  Ralph  answered.  "It  was  quite  a 
surprise  to  me,  and  really  I  scarcely  know 
how  to  be  grateful  enough  to  him.  His  ap- 
phcation  has  certainly  been  wonderful,  and 
to-night  he  has  returned  to  the  laboratory  to 
make  some  final  tests,  which  I  am  to  go  down 
and  see  a  little  later." 

"To  go  down  and  see!"  repeated  Nina. 


She  could  say  nothing  more.  Her  whole  at- 
tention became  concentrated  on  her  own 
mind.  Was  she  mad  or  sane  in  the  horrible 
fear  that  came  to  her  as  Ralph  uttered  those 
words?  Was  she  distraught  with  the  idle 
fancy  of  a  foolish  woman,  or  did  she  begin  to 
appreciate — as  if  illumined  by  a  flash  of  light 
— the  full  meaning  of  some  words  Martindale 
had  spoken  to  her  but  a  few  short  hours  be- 
fore ? 

"  Yes,  to  go  down  and  see ! "  said 
Ralph,  triumphantly.  "Seeing  is  believing, 
you  know !  I  wish  you  would  let  this  be  a 
lesson  to  you  about  the  folly  of  prejudice, 
Ninetta,"  he  went  on,  feeling  it  incumbent 
upon  him  to  point  the  occasion  with  a  moral. 
"  If  I  had  been  uncivil  and  ungrateful  enough 
to  send  Martindale  away,  as  you  requested,  I 
should  never  have  had  the  great  pleasure  of 
seeing  my  idea  brought  to  a  practical  and  suc- 
cessful issue." 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  see  it  now  ? " 
said  Nina.  She  was  sorry  for  the  words  after 
she  had  uttered  them.  Ralph  would  only 
think  her  more  prejudiced ;  she  would  only 
lessen  her  power  of  influencing  him. 

"  I  cannot  doubt  Martindale's  word,"  he 
answered,  gravely ;  "  and  I  certainly  should 
not  think  of  doubting  his  judgment.  His  as- 
surance was  positive  with  regard  to  the  suc- 
cessful result  of  the  experiments.  But  when 
I  come  back  from  the  laboratory,  I  shall  be 
able  to  tell  you  more  positively,"  he  added, 
smiling. 

"When  are  you  to  go?"  she  asked. — 
Something  sti'ange  and  cold  in  her  tone  struck 
Ralph.  He  was  surprised  and  pained.  It  is 
always  hard  to  realize  that  our  pleasure  gives 
no  pleasure  to  those  whom  we  love. 

"  Martindale  said  about  ten  o'clock,"  he 
answered.  "  I  suppose  it  is  after  nine  now — 
these  summer  nights  are  so  short !  I  wanted 
to  go  at  once,  but  he  said  he  preferred  to  be 
alone  while  he  made  one  or  two  final  experi- 
ments ;  and  I  did  not  press  the  point." 

"  About  ten  o'clock ! "  repeated  Nina. 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  head.  Her  brain 
felt  in  a  whirl.  She  could  scarcely  have  given 
a  definite  expression  to  the  fears  and  suspi- 
cions that  thronged  upon  her.  One  thing 
only  was  clear  and  unmistakable  —  doubt! 
Doubt  of  Martindale,  and  doubt  of  his  ex- 
periments !  "  There  is  no  truth  in  him ! " 
she  said  to  herself;  and  those  words  which 
he  had  unintentionally  let  fall  in  the  midst  of 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


35 


bis  passion  in  the  garden,  came  back  to  her 
with  grim,  warniug  significance :  "  Vou  think 
you  will  work  harm  to  Ealph  Wyverae  by  go- 
ing :  believe  me,  you  may  work  worse  harm 
to  him  by  staying!" 

"  Why,  you  are  resolving  into  an  echo," 
said  Ralph,  smiling.  "  Is  not  ten  o'clock  as 
good  an  hour  as  any  other? "  Then  he  took 
her  hand  and  drew  it  into  his  arm.  "  Dear," 
he  said,  a  little  wistfully,  "  have  you  no  word 
of  sympathy  or  congratulation  for  me?  I 
know  you  don't  like  chemistry,  but  still — " 

"  I  do  like  it !  "  said  Nina,  with  a  short, 
dry  sob.  "  I  like  every  thing  that  you  like, 
Ralph !  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  not  given 
you  more  sympathy  and  encouragement,  but  I 
have  been  so  selfish  that  I  have  thought  only 
of  myself.  What  a  terrible  thing  it  is  to 
think  of  one's  self!"  she  cried,  passionate- 
ly. "  What  misery  it  works  on  everybody  ! 
Ralph  ! " — to  his  surprise  she  threw  her  arms 
around  and  clung  to  him — "  can  you  forgive 
me  ?     I — oh,  I  am  very  sorry ! " 

"Forgive  you,  my  darling!"  said  Ralph; 
"  what  on  earth  have  I  to  forgive  you  for  ?  " 
Well  as  he  knew  the  impulses — now  passion- 
ate, now  tender — of  this  wayward  girl,  he  did 
not  understand  her  at  present.  "  I  hope  we 
shall  do  better  after  we  are  married,"  he  said, 
cheerfully.  "  You  will  take  some  interest  in 
chemistry  then,  and  we  shall  settle  into  a 
scientific  Darby  and  Joan.  But  you  must  not 
excite  yourself  like  this.  Why,  your  hands 
are  burning,  and  yet  you  are  shivering !  Nina, 
you  certainly  are  not  well.  You  must  have 
been  in  the  dew  too  long  this  evening.  Don't 
stay  out  any  longer,  dear !  Go  to  bed,  and 
to-morrow  I  will  tell  you  all  about  the  experi- 
ments." 

"  I  am  not  sleepy  or  sick,"  said  Nina. 
"  Why  should  I  go  to  bed  ?  Ralph,  will  you 
do  something  for  me,  or,  rather,  will  you  let 
me  do  something  ?  "  she  went  on,  eagerly.  "  I 
always  said  that  I  was  another  Fatima,  you 
know ;  that  if  I  had  married  Bluebeard  I 
should  certainly  have  opened  the  closet ;  so 
nobody  need  ever  be  surprised  at  my  curiosity. 
Just  now  I  have  a  fancy  to  see  the  result  of 
Mr.  Martindale's  experiments  before  you  do. 
W^on't  you  be  obliging,  and  let  me  go  down 
to  the  laboratory  in  your  place  at  ten  o'clock." 

"  I  will  let  you  go  down  with  me,"  said 
Ralph,  smiling ;  "  won't  that  do  as  well  ? 
We  shall  both  see  the  result  together,  then, 
and  I  can  explain — " 


But  Nina  shook  her  head,  interrupting 
him  impatiently. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  want ! "  she  said.  "  I 
want  the  gratification  of  seeing  it/;-«^  You 
don't  understand  how  I  feel  about  it.  It  is 
childish,  I  dare  say,  but  you  ought  to  have 
learned  by  this  time  how  much  of  the  child 
there  is  still  in  me." 

"  I  hope  there  always  will  be,"  said  Ralph. 
He  was  sufficiently  in  love  to  find  it  very 
pleasant  to  humor  this  pretty,  capricious  ty- 
rant. "Of  course,  you  can  go  if  you  like," 
he  said.  "  I'll  stay  here  or  in  the  drawing- 
room,  until  you  come  back."  He  took  out 
his  watch  and  glanced  at  it  in  the  faint  moon- 
light. "  It  wants  a  few  minutes  of  ten  now," 
he  said. 

"  Then  I  will  go,"  said  Nina.  She  was  as- 
tonished at  the  feeling  that  came  over  her  as 
she  uttered  those  simple  words.  It  was  the 
strange,  subtle  sensation  of  one  who  is  con- 
scious of  having  taken  an  irrevocable  step — 
such  a  sensation  as  comes  to  all  save  the 
most  obtuse  at  certain  important  and  critical 
moments  of  life,  when  our  own  words  or  our 
own  acts  erect  a  barrier  between  the  past 
and  the  future  which  no  after-effort  can  re- 
move. It  was  under  the  influence  of  this 
feeling  that  she  turned  suddenly  to  Ralph 
"  Don't  think  hardly  of  me,  dear,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  mean  to  distress  or  pain  you !  I 
love  you  better  than  anybody  else  in  the 
world,  and  I  would  do  any  thing  to  serve  you, 
any  thing  to — to  atone  for  my  folly  and  self- 
ishness !  But  there  may  be  only  one  way. 
Don't  blame  me  if  I  take  that." 

"Nina,  what  are  you  talking  about?" 
said  Ralph.  He  did  not  understand  the  drift 
or  meaning  of  her  words  at  all.  She  only 
confused  and  puzzled  him  by  these  chameleon 
changes  of  mood.  "  I  am  not  likely  to  blame 
you  for  any  thing  unless  you  make  yourself 
sick.  I  think  you  must  have  a  fever.  I 
told  you  some  time  ago  that  it  would  be  bet- 
ter for  you  to  go  to  bed  than  to  stay  out  in 
this  night-air.  I  am  not  sure  that  there  is 
not  some  malaria  lurking  in  it." 

"It  does  not  matter  if  there  is,"  said 
Nina,  with  a  faint  smile.     "  Good-night." 

"  Of  course,  you'll  find  me  here  when  you 
come  back  from  the  laboratory,"  said  he, 
rather  surprised  at  the  quick,  passionate  kiss 
she  gave  him. 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  she  said,  rather  absently,  and, 
turning  away,  went  down  the  terrace-steps. 


36 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


Ealph  stood  at  the  bead  of  them,  watching 
the  slender,  white-clad  figure,  as  it  walked 
slowly  along  the  garden-path  below.  Even 
through  his  obtuseness,  a  sudden  chill  of  un- 
easy foreboding  struck,  when  it  vanished. 
"  By  Jove,  this  doesn't  seem  exactly  the  right 
kind  of  thing!"  he  said,  half  aloud.  "Per- 
haps I  had  better  follow  her,  after  all."  He 
laughed  the  next  minute,  however,  and,  taking 
a  cigar  from  his  pocket,  struck  a  match  and 
lighted  it.  "  Am  I  getting  nervous,  too  ?  " 
he  said.  "  Nina  must  have  infected  me.  It 
would  be  a  shabby  kind  of  trick  to  follow  her 
when  she  was  so  anxious  to  see  the  experi- 
ments first.  Poor  little  darling ! " — he  laughed 
again — "  she  won't  understand  much  about 
them." 

Then  he  put  his  hands  in  his  coat>-pockets, 
and,  with  his  cigar  in  his  mouth,  began  to 
pace  to  and  fro  along  the  terrace.  It  was 
harder  on  him — this  waiting  to  see  the  result 
of  his  long-cherished  idea — than  any  one  would 
have  imagined  from  the  quietness  with  which 
he  bore  it.  But,  in  little  or  in  great,  Ralph 
had  never  hesitated  over  a  sacrifice  for  Nina, 
He  would  not  have  hesitated  over  the  greatest 
of  all  sacrifices,  if  he  had  once  suspected  that 
it  was  needed.  It  was  merely  a  caprice,  he 
thought — this  fancy  to  go  down  to  the  labo- 
ratory— but  it  afforded  him  real  and  sensible 
pleasure  to  deny  himself  in  order  to  gratify 
it.  Pacing  there  in  the  faint,  level  moonlight, 
he  thought  more  of  her  than  of  his  chemistry. 
The  spirit  of  her  last,  self-reproachful  words 
seemed  to  come  back  to  him.  "  My  darling!" 
he  said,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  passionate  ten- 
derness. He  longed  to  take  her  into  his  arms, 
and  answer  her  with  loving  words,  as  he  had 
not  answered  her  when  she  had  spoken. 

After  a  while,  the  consciousness  came  to 
him  that  she  had  been  gone  some  time.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  The  hands  pointed  to 
half-past  ten.  He  began  to  feel  impatient, 
and  to  wonder  what  she  had  found  so  inter- 
esting in  the  experiments.  One  or  two  more 
turns  along  the  terrace  —  then  restlessness 
prevailed,  and  he  walked  toward  the  steps. 
As  he  approached,  a  dark  figure  emerged 
from  one  of  the  garden-paths,  and  quickly 
ascended  them.  The  moon  sunk  below  the 
horizon  at  that  moment,  but  the  stars  gave 
light  enough  for  Ralph  to  recognize  Martin- 
dale. 

•  •  .  .  . 

As  Nina  hastened  through  the  garden  to 


the  laboratory,  her  thoughts  began  to  clear, 
her  instinct  to  resolve  itself  into  certainty. 
Now  that  she  was  alone,  she  did  not  hesitate 
to  face  the  indefinite  fear  which  she  had 
thrust  froni  her  when  Ralph  was  by,  at  which 
she  had  scarcely  dared  to  look,  lest  horror 
should  overpower  judgment,  and  lead  to  harm 
instead  of  good.  Even  yet  her  idea  of  what 
she  feared  was  of  necessity  vague ;  but  there 
are  some  things  that  gain  rather  than  lose 
terror  by  vagueness,  and  this  was  one  of  them. 
Facing  it,  as  she  did,  with  a  bravery  that  sur- 
prised herself,  one  grim  certainty  stood  out 
darkly  and  clearly  through  all  the  mystery — 
the  certainty  that  Martindale's  invitation  to 
Ralph  meant  that  which  is  best  expressed  in 
two  short  but  significant  words — foul  play ! 
Foul  play  of  what  kind,  or  to  be  accomplished 
in  what  manner,  Nina  did  not  know.  She  was 
only  conscious  in  every  fibre  of  the  warning 
which  Nature  sometimes  gives  in  times  of 
danger  ;  she  only  knew  that  all  which  she  had 
felt  in  the  afternoon  rushed  back  on  her 
now,  intensified  a  hundred-fold.  Of  course, 
her  interview  with  Martindale  had  much  to 
do  with  this.  She  could  not  forget  his  reck- 
less passion,  nor  his  almost  menacing  deter- 
mination. She  could  still  less  forget  his  look 
and  tone  when  he  warned  her  that  she  might 
"work  harm"  to  Ralph  by  staying,  nor  fail 
to  connect  them  with  the  false  pretext  by 
which  he  strove  to  draw  the  latter  to  the 
laboratory. 

If  it  be  asked  how  she  knew  that  it  was  a 
false  pretext,  it  can  only  be  answered  that 
she  knew  it  as  she  had  known  from  the  first 
that  Ralph's  idea  was  wholly  impracticable, 
and  that  Martindale  had  made  of  the  amateur 
chemist's  hopes  and  expectations  mere  tools 
to  serve  his  own  interest.  That  much,  sa- 
gacity or  instinct  had  told  her  a  month  be- 
fore. The  deception  of  to-night,  therefore, 
was  a  sufiiciently  plain  sequence.  As  for  the 
sinister  motive  which  was  supposed  to  lurk 
behind  this  deception,  it  can  at  least  be  said 
for  her  that  she  had  no  inconsiderable  foun- 
dation on  which  to  build  suspicion.  In  these 
two  weeks  of  struggle,  she  had  learned  some-  J 
thing  of  the  man  with  whom  she  had  so  un-  ' 
successfully  "  amused  herself; "  she  had  gained 
an  idea,  at  least,  of  how  little  he  was  likely 
to  halt  at  half  measures,  or  to  heed  any  ob-  , 
stacle  in  the  path  of  his  desire.  \ 

Feeling  all  this,  her  first  instinctive  im- 
pulse had  been  to  keep  Ralph  from  the  lab- 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


37 


oratory  and  the  danger  which  might  be  await- 
ing him  there.  But,  having  gained  this  point, 
her  next  step  was  by  no  means  clear.  "What 
she  was  to  do  apart  from  the  one  important 
item  of  gaining  time,  and  judgment  for  her- 
self of  Martindale's  mood  and  intention,  she 
did  not  know.  Certainly  the  prospect  was 
not  encouraging.  She  linew  that  all  hope  of 
influencing  him  by  entreaty  or  defiance  was 
useless.  She  had  tested  both  too  often  not 
to  be  assured  of  that.  But,  if  the  worst  came 
to  the  worst,  she  held  one  trump-card  which 
she  had  girded  up  her  strength  to  play.  If 
it  were  a  question  of  risking  Ralph's  life,  or 
of  eloping  with  Martindale,  she  meant  to 
elope  with  the  latter.  That  was  what  the 
last  passionate  words  which  had  puzzled  Wy- 
verne  had  meant.  In  truth,  a  reckless  yet 
awful  sense  of  powerlessness  had  come  over 
the  girl.  Why  should  she  struggle  any  longer 
against  the  fate  which  she  had  brought  on 
herself?  Why  should  she  endeavor  to  resist 
the  man  who  let  no  barrier  stand  before  his 
impetuous  purpose  ?  "  It  is  my  own  fault," 
she  murmured ;  "  I  loosed  the  dam — I  have 
no  right  to  complain  that  the  torrent  sweeps 
me  away.  But  it  must  not  harm  Ralph  ! 
Whatever  happens,  Ralph  must  not  be 
harmed  ! " 

When  she  came  in  sight  of  the  pavilion, 
and  saw  a  light  burning  through  the  small 
panes  of  its  old-fashioned  lattice,  she  paused 
and  looked  at  her  watch  by  the  faint  lustre  of 
the  sinking  moon.  It  was  exactly  ten  o'clock. 
She  was  just  in  time ;  and  yet — face  to  face 
with  what  she  had  undertaken  —  her  heart 
seemed  to  die  away  within  her.  She  shrank 
with  absolute  terror  from  meeting  Martindale. 
She  felt  impelled  to  go  back  and  tell  every  thing 
to  Ralph.  One  oonsideration,  however,  was 
strong  enough  to  deter  her  from  this :  if  she 
were  right  in  what  she  suspected,  there  would 
be  no  means  of  putting  Ralph  sufficiently  on 
his  guard  to  avoid  danger.  "  How  can  I  tell 
in  what  shape  it  might  come  ?"  she  thought. 
Martindale's  intimate  knowledge  of  chemistry 
seemed  to  endow  him  with  strange  and  ter- 
rible power  over  human  life.  Apart  from  her 
vague  and  somewhat  fantastic  terrors,  Nina 
knew  that  the  mere  elements  of  this  science 
contain  much  which  can  be  turned  to  fearful 
purpose  by  a  keen  brain  and  an  unscrupulous 
hand. 

It  was  too  late  to  turn  back,  therefore — 
too  late  in  this,  as  in  every  thing  else !     That 


was  what  she  thought,  as  she  went  on  slowly 
— along  the  dewy  paths,  past  the  clinging 
roses  and  a  great  bed  of  lilies  that  filled  the 
summer  night  with  fragrance  —  until  she 
gained  the  pavilion  steps.  There  she  paused 
again.  Her  heart  was  beating  as  if  it  would 
suffocate  her ;  her  hands  were  burning,  yet 
she  felt  herself  shiver  from  head  to  foot. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  it?  "Am  I  going 
to  be  ill  ?  "  she  thought,  pressing  her  hands 
to  her  temples.  She  did  not  know  that  the 
nervous  tension  and  excitement  of  weeks  had 
reached  its  supreme  height  in  the  stormy 
scene  of  the  afternoon,  and  the  terror  of  the 
night.  Standing  there,  she  looked  up  at  the 
great  starry  dome  arching  overhead ;  at  the 
house  with  its  gabled  roof  cutting  sharply 
against  the  steel-blue  sky ;  at  the  dark,  silent 
garden,  with  its  wealth  of  unseen  perfume. 
Familiar  as  the  whole  scene  was,  she  felt  as 
if  she  were  looking  at  it  from  the  farther  side 
of  a  great  gulf;  as  if  the  ties  which  bound 
her  to  Wyverne  were  already  severed.  "  Home 
of  yours  it  will  never  be  again ! "  a  voice 
seemed  to  say.  "  As  you  have  sowed,  so  must 
you  reap  !  Go  forth  to  the  world  for  which 
you  have  longed,  with  a  man  for  whom  you 
have  neither  trust  nor  love  ! " 

After  a  while  she  remembered  that  every 
minute  of  time  was  precious,  that  Ralph 
would  be  impatient,  that  whatever  was  to  be 
done  must  be  done  at  once.  Although  the 
night  was  warm,  the  pavilion-door  was  closed. 
Forcing  herself,  by  a  strong  effort,  she  laid 
her  hand  on  the  lock.  It  yielded  readily  to 
her  touch,  and,  opening  the  door,  she  stepped 
within  the  laboratory. 

Her  first  sensation  was  one  of  surprise ; 
her  next,  of  inexpressible  relief.  Martin- 
dale was  not  there.  Her  glance  swept  round 
the  laboratory  in  a  second,  and  took  in  the 
fact.  There  was  every  sign  of  his  recent 
presence,  however.  A  lamp  was  burning  on 
a  table  covered  with  chemical  apparatus — 
retorts,  tubes,  receivers,  a  host  of  things  of 
which  she  did  not  even  know  the  names. 
Having  closed  the  door,  Nina  paused  and 
looked  at  them  —  looked  with  surprise  and 
doubt.  Were  those  prepared  for  Ralph's  ex- 
periments ?  After  all,  had  she  suspected 
Martindale  unjustly?  Or  —  or  was  there  a 
trap  under  all  this  specious  and  fair-seeming 
arrangement  ?  It  was  significant  of  the  dis- 
trust with  which  her  mind  was  filled,  that 
she  should  have  asked  this  question,  for  cer- 


38 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


laiuly  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  any 
one  who  entered  the  hiboratory  without  preju- 
dice, or  suspicion  of  foul  play. 

Despite  the  apparent  want  of  any  thing  to 
justify  her  high-wrought  fears,  the  obstinate 
sense  of  danger  still  remained  with  Nina. 
She  had  scarcely  closed  the  door,  before  a 
sudden  sense  of  faintness  came  over  her.  It 
was  a  different  sensation  from  that  which  she 
bad  felt  outside ;  but  she  took  it  to  be  an  ef- 
fect from  the  same  cause,  and,  although  it 
did  not  rouse  any  fear  for  herself,  it  quickened 
Jier  misgivings  for  Ralph.  "  I  am  going  to 
be  ill,"  she  thought,  "  but  I  must  see — I 
must  know — what  this  means.  There  is 
something  wrong.  The  very  silence  seems 
sinister ! " 

It  truly  did.  If  the  speaker  had  known 
any  thing  of  the  menacing  quiet  which  pre- 
cedes a  gunpowder  explosion,  she  might  have 
likened  the  stillness  to  that — it  seemed  so 
ominous  of  evil.  The  air  was  full  of  an  in- 
definable oppression,  which  made  her  gasp 
for  breath  as  she  crossed  the  floor  to  the 
table,  and  began  to  scan  the  apparatus  — 
searching,  she  scarcely  knew  for  what.  This, 
however,  was  only  the  work  of  a  moment. 
Before  the  second-hand  of  her  watch  could 
have  made  a  quarter  of  its  circuit,  a  more 
deadly  and  unutterable  faintness  than  any 
she  had  felt  before,  rushed  over  her.  Her 
head  began  to  swim,  a  mist  rose  before  her 
eyes,  the  tubes  and  glass  retorts  were  sud- 
denly blurred  out.  The  awful  oj^pression 
closed  upon  her.  She  made  a  wild  struggle 
for  breath:  one  hand  went  to  her  throat;  the 
other  grasped  instinctively  the  corner  of  the 
table.  Thus  preserved  from  falling,  she  stood 
for  an  instant  swaying  like  a  reed,  or  rather 
like  one  around  whom  the  black  darkness  of 
unconsciousness  begins  to  close.  "Am  I 
going  to  faint  ?  "  she  thought.  After  all  her 
suspicions,  no  glimpse  of  the  horrible  truth 
came  to  her  when  she  was  thus  face  to  face 
with  it.  She  turned  with  a  vague  idea  of 
reaching  and  opening  the  nearest  casement. 
Instinct  told  her  that  there  was  salvation  in 
the  fresh  air  so  carefully  shut  from  the  lab- 
oratory. But  the  poisonous  fumes  had  done 
their  work.  Two  —  three  —  blind,  faltering 
steps  she  made — 

Then  came  a  heavy  fall ! 

"  Ralph ! "  exclaimed  Martindale,  starting 
riolently  as  he  recognized  the  figure  which 


met  him  in  the  starlight.  "Ralph  !  Is  it — is 
it  possible  this  is  you  ?  " 

"Of  course  it  is  I,"  said  Ralph.  "Who 
else  should  it  be  ?  Are  you  looking  for  me  ? 
I  was  just  coming  down  to  the  laboratory." 

"Just  coming  down  to  the  laboratory!" 
repeated  the  other.  If  the  light  had  not  been 
so  dim,  Ralph  would  have  seen  that  he  was 
white  to  the  very  lips.  "I — I  thought  you 
had  gone  down,"  he  said,  after  a  minute. 

"  You  thought  I  had  gone  down ! "  re- 
peated Ralph,  in  turn — not  a  little  surprised. 
"  Why,  where  did  you  come  from  ?  Have 
you  not  been  at  the  laboratory  yourself?  " 

"  Not — not  for  some  time  ! "  answered 
Martindale,  lifting  his  hand  and  loosening  the 
tie  of  his  cravat.  "  I  finished  some  tests,"  he 
went  on,  "  and  walked  out  into  the  garden. 
I  could  not  see  the  laboratory,  but  I — I  was 
sure  I  heard  the  door  open  and  shut  a  little 
while  ago." 

"  It  is  very  probable  you  did,"  said  Ralph, 
carelessly.  "Nina  went  down  about  half  an 
hour  since.  But  I  don't  at  all  understand ! 
You  told  me  that  I  should  find  you — " 

A  grasp  on  his  arm,  the  like  of  which  he 
had  never  felt  before,  stopped  the  words  on 
his  lips.  Even  in  the  starlight  he  saw  now 
the  ghastly  pallor  of  the  face  near  his  own; 
and  the  first  sound  of  the  voice,  that  had  no 
cadence  of  its  natural  tone  in  it,  startled  him 
beyond  all  measure. 

"  ]T7to  did  you  say  had  gone  there  ?  "  Mar- 
tindale demanded. 

"  Nina,"  answered  Ralph.  He  was  filled 
with  sudden,  intangible  alarm.  "Good  Heav- 
ens !  Martindale,  is — is  any  thing  the  mat- 
ter ?  " 

"  Nina  ! "  repeated  Martindale — it  was  not 
a  word,  but  a  note  of  horror,  such  as  Wyverne 
never  forgot — "  Nina  !  "  He  hurled  the  other 
from  him.  "Did  you  ask  what  was  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  he  cried,  half  madly,  half  sternly.  "  You 
have  sent  her  into  a  laboratory  JUled  ivith  poison- 
ous gas!'''' 

"  Martindale ! "  said  Ralph.  If  the  heav- 
ens had  fallen  upon  him  he  could  not  have 
been  more  astounded ;  he  could  scarcely  have 
understood  less  of  what  he  heard.  He  was 
hardly  conscious  of  the  recoil  from  Martin- 
dale's  grasp.  The  next  moment,  however,  the 
latter  had  darted  down  the  terrace-steps,  and 
was  speeding  along  the  garden-path  which 
led  to  the  pavilion. 

Instantly  Ralph  followed.     The   meaning 


XINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


39 


of  those  last,  terrible  words  came  to  him  now 
— at  least  their  meaning  with  regard  to  Nina. 
Beyond  that  his  mind  did  not  go.  It  did  not 
occur  to  him,  at  such  a  moment,  to  question 
why  the  laboratory  had  been  full  of  poisonous 
gas.  It  was  enough  that  she  had  entered  such 
a  place,  and  that  her  safety — her  very  life — 
was  in  horrible  jeopardy. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  no  word  was 
exchanged  between  the  two  breathless  run- 
ners. Only  the  quick  fall  of  their  flying  feet 
smote  on  the  stillness  of  the  starlit  night 
until  they  gained  the  laboratory,  where  Mar- 
tindale — being  in  advance — dashed  open  the 
door  and  rushed  in. 

He  was  only  invisible  a  moment.  By  the 
time  Ralph  reached  the  steps  he  appeared 
again  in  the  door — staggering  like  a  drunken 
man — but  bearing  Nina  in  his  arms. 

"  Give  her  to  me ! "  said  Wyverne,  hoarse- 
Iv.  He  took  the  slender  form — heavy  now 
with  the  leaden  weight  of  inert  matter — and 
laid  it  down  on  the  very  spot  where  she  had 
stood  so  short  a  time  before,  taking  her  last 
look  of  the  fair  earth.  She  might  be  only  un- 
conscious— stupefied,  narcotized — he  thought ; 
but  hope  died  within  him  when  he  felt  the 
brow,  the  lips,  the  wrist — lastly,  the  silent 
heart — without  finding  one  token  of  respira- 
tion or  throb  of  life. 

Tet,  -when  Martindale  brought  the  neces- 
sary chemical  agents  and  means  for  restoring 
consciousness,  he  went  eagerly  to  work  with 
them.  Application  after  application  was 
made,  test  after  test  failed.  It  was  a  strange 
scene.  The  lamp,  which  had  been  brought 
from  the  laboratory,  flung  its  vivid  glow  over 
the  beautiful  face  set  in  the  stillness  of  death ; 
the  quiet  stars  gazed  down  on  the  two  men 
kneeling  beside  it  in  the  vain  attempt  to  re- 
store that  which  had  fled  forever.  The  most 
unscientific  looker-on  might  have  told  them 
that  all  eSbrt  was  hopeless,  that  no  power  of 
science  could  recall  the  spark  of  life  to  the 
fair  clay  it  had  animated ;  but  still,  with 
feverish,  passionate  energy  they  persevered, 
though  no  restorative  brought  any  flush  of 
life  to  the  white  skin,  no  sigh  of  returning 
vitality  to  the  lips,  no  flutter  to  the  fallen  lids. 

This  could  not  continue,  however.  After 
a  while,  the  grim  truth  came  home  to  them. 
They  could  no  longer  close  their  eyes  to  the 
fact  that  this  which  they  were  fighting  was 
not  unconsciousness,  but  death — death  which 
holds  as  relentlessly  its  fairest  as  its  meanest 


prize.  Their  eyes  met  for  a  moment  with  the 
blankness  of  despair.  At  that  instant,  there 
was  no  other  thought  in  the  mind  of  either. 
Martindale  rose  slowly — swayingly — to  his 
feet.  Ralph,  still  kneeling  by  the  dead  girl, 
looked  up  at  him. 

"  There  is  no  hope ! "  he  said. 

His  voice  was  strangely  quiet.  In  truth, 
the  shock  had  been  so  great  that,  for  the 
time,  sensation  was  dead.  An  overmastering 
blow  must  always  do  one  of  two  things — stun 
or  craze.     This  had  stunned  him. 

"  None!  "  Martindale  answered.  His  tongue 
seemed  to  cleave  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth ;  he 
could  scarcely  articulate.  "  I  knew  Viat  when 
I  found  her,"  he  said.  "The  gas  in  there" 
— he  nodded  toward  the  laboratory — "  would 
have  killed  an  army." 

"  How  did  it  come  to  be  there  ?  "  asked 
Ralph. 

Even  yet  suspicion  had  not  occurred  to 
him.  He  scarcely  remembered  the  words 
Martindale  had  spoken  on  the  terrace.  Every 
thing  had  merged  for  him  in  the  horrible 
thought  of  Nina's  danger. 

"  Have  you  not  guessed  that  ?  "  asked  the 
other.  To  him,  also,  a  strange,  stunned, 
reckless  feeling  came.  Every  thing  had  gone 
wrong.  His  great  throw  had  brought  ruin 
instead  of  fortune.  Instead  of  his  rival,  it 
was  the  woman  he  loved  who  lay  dead  at  his 
feet.  "  She  suspected  this,  and  came  in  your 
place,"  he  said.  "I  generated  the  gas  for 
you  !  " 

"Forme?" 

For  a  minute  Ralph  could  say  no  more 
than  that.  Then  he  sprung  to  his  feet — pale, 
horror-stricken,  yet  terrible  in  the  aspect  that 
transformed  his  face,  ia  the  gleam  that  came 
into  his  eyes. 

"  If  you  had  not  been  blind,  you  might 
have  seen  long  ago  that  I  loved  her — that  I 
stayed  here  only  to  win  her !  "  Martindale 
said,  as  they  faced  each  other  in  the  dim,  un- 
certain light.  "  I  swore  to  stop  your  mar- 
riage at  any  cost,"  he  added,  after  a  minute — 
a  minute  broken  by  no  sound.  "  I  have  been 
as  good  as  my  word — I  have  stopped  it,  you 
see." 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  said  Ralph.  His  own 
mother  could  scarcely  have  recognized  the 
voice  in  which  he  spoke  as  his  own.  "  Do 
you  know  that,  if  this  is  true,  you  will  not  live 
long  enough  to  take  her  name  on  your  lips 
again  ?  " 


40 


NINA'S  ATONEMENT. 


Martindale  laughed — the  faint,  scornful 
sound  breaking  the  silence  with  ghastly  sig- 
nificance. There  was  a  glitter  in  his  ej-e,  as 
ominous  as  the  lurid  glow  that  had  come  to 
Ralph's. 

"  Do  you  think  I  will  ask  your  leave  when 
to  die?"  he  demanded.  Then  he  put  his 
hand  to  his  lips. 


Ralph  made  one  quick,  tiger-like  spring 
forward,  but  he  was  too  late.  In  the  throat 
on  which  his  fingers  closed  the  death-rattle 
had  already  sounded.  With  one  mocking 
smile,  the  soul  fled.  To  the  baffled  avenger 
remained  only  that  faint,  subtle  odor  of  bitter 
almonds  which  betrays  the  swiftest  and  dead- 
liest poison  known  to  chemistry. 


THE      END. 


HUGH'S    VENDETTA. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  IV /T^I'GtARET,"  said  Hugh  Churchill,  as 
J-V-L   he  came   abruptly  into  his  sister's 
room  one  morning,  "  who  do  you  suppose  is 
dead  ?  " 

The  address  was  startling  enough  in  it- 
self, but  there  was  a  suppressed  excitement 
in  the  speaker's  face,  and  a  suppressed  tone  of 
awe  in  his  voice,  that  made  Margaret  Churchill 
turn  pale  as  she  looked  up  from  her  sewing 
in  quick  alarm. 

"  Indeed  I  cannot  tell,  Hugh,"  she  said. 
"  Not — not  anybody  I  care  about,  surely  ?  " 

"  Care  about !  "  repeated  her  brother. 
"  Not  unless  you  care  about  knowing  that  he 
has  gone  to  his  deserts  in  another  and — a 
hotter  world  !  That  is  all  the  concern  I  feel 
in  Henry  Tyrrell's  death,  I  am  sure." 

"  Henry  Tyrrell !     Is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  He  dropped  down  with  a  fit  of  apoplexy 
an  hour  ago." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  On  the  street.  I  was  sitting  in  Morri- 
son's oflBce  about  ten  o'clock,  and  chanced  to 
see  him  walk  past,  looking  as  usual ;  yet, 
scarcely  five  minutes  later,  a  boy  rushed  in 
saying  that  Mr.  Tyrrell  had  just  fallen  down 
dead.  Of  course,  we  ran  out  at  once.  He 
was  not  dead,  however ;  so  we  carried  him 
into  the  office,  and  sent  for  the  doctors  at 
once.  They  were  all  there  in  no  time,  but 
they  could  do  nothing  for  him,  and  he  has 
just  died." 

His  voice  sank  a  little  over  the  last  words, 
and  a  look  of  horror  came  into  Margaret 
Churchill's  face. 

"  Died  like  that !     0  Hugh  !    how    terri- 


ble !  Surely  he  said  something— surely  he 
made  some  reparation  for  such  an  awful 
life ! " 

Her  brother  laughed,  not  mirthfully. 

"Do  you  believe  in  death-bed  atonements, 
Madge  ?  I  confess  I  don't,  and  I  doubt  if 
Tyrrell  did,  either.  He  recovered  his  senses 
toward  the  last,  but  he  only  uttered  two 
names.     The  first  was  his  son's — " 

"  And  the  other  ?  " 

The  young  man's  voice  deepened,  and  a 
change  came  over  his  face  that  hardened  and 
altered  it,  as  he  answered  gravely,  almost 
sternly : 

"  The  other  was — our  father's ! " 

Margaret  looked  up,  her  awe-struck  eyes 
meeting  his,  and  for  a  moment  neither  spoke. 
At  last  it  was  the  girl's  voice  that  said  : 

"  God  forgive  him  !  " 

Low  as  the  words  were,  they  reached 
Hugh  Churchill's  ears,  and  brought  a  dark 
cloud  over  his  face. 

"So  that  is  your  idea  of  Christianity,  is 
it,  Madge?"  he  asked,  bitterly.  "A  nice 
place  you  and  the  like  of  you  would  make  of 
heaven — ay,  and  of  earth,  too  !  If  I  believed 
that  a  few  prayers  or  good  works  at  the 
eleventh  hour  could  atone  for  Henry  Tyrrell's 
half  a  century  of  wrong-doing,  I  would  fling 
conscience  to  the  winds,  and  live  as  he  did — 
perhaps  die  as  he  died,  too.  But  that  would 
make  no  difference  in  your  liberal  creed.  I 
don't  pretend  to  decide  whether  or  not  such 
opinions  are  orthodox,  but  of  all  the  texts  in 
Holy  Writ  I  like  best  the  one  which  says  that 
what  a  man  sows  the  same  shall  he  reap, 
here  and  hereafter." 

Margaret  did  not  answer.     Her  thoughts, 


42 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


indeed,  seemed  to  have  wandered  from  her 
brother's  speech,  and  gone  back  to  what  he 
had  said  before.  At  least,  when  he  finished, 
she  went  on  with  the  other  train  of  thought. 

"  And  he  spoke  of  pupa.  0  Hugh !  who 
can  tell  what  he  was  thinking  ?  I  wonder 
was  it  the  sight  of  you  that  brought  back  the 
past  ?    Did  he  see  you  at  all  ?  " 

"  He  saw  me  as  plainly  as  you  see  me 
now,"  her  brother  answered.  "  Indeed,  I 
doubt  if  he  saw  any  one  else.  I  was  stand- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and,  when  he 
opened  his  eyes,  they  rested  full  on  my  face. 
And  with  such  a  look !  Madge,  it  was  awful ! 
I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  forget  it.  It  was 
so  solemn  and  yet  so  defiant,  as  if  he  had 
said,  '  So  you  are  here  to  see  the  end  ! '  My 
God,  what  an  end  '.  Madge  " — and  his  voice 
grew  so  tender  that  she  knew  of  whom  he 
was  going  to  speak — "  you  have  heard  how 
bravely  and  peacefully  our  father  died  ?  Well, 
even  in  this  world,  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
retribution.  I  thought  that,  if  I  thought 
nothing  else,  as  I  stood  by  the  death-bed  of 
the  man  who  killed  him." 

Margaret  thought  it,  too,  as  the  dainty 
muslin  she  was  hemming  fell  from  her  lap  to 
the  floor  unheeded.  She,  too,  remembered 
all  that  she  had  heard  of  the  father  wliose 
existence  had  faded  so  early  out  of  her  own 
— of  his  stainless  life  and  honorable  death, 
as  contrasted  with  the  life  and  death  of  the 
man  who  had  murdered  him.  For  even  the 
world,  usually  so  lenient  in  such  matters, 
held  Henry  Tyrrell  as  guilty  of  the  blood  of 
Albert  Churchill  as  if  he  had  stabbed  him 
unawares  in  the  darkness  of  the  night.  It  is 
true  that  the  affair  had  taken  the  form  of  a 
duel,  but  it  had  been  prefaced  by  the  most  un- 
merited insult,  and  there  had  been  enough  of 
unfairness  in  its  actual  arrangement  to  set  a 
black  mark  on  the  survivor  to  the  day  of  his 
death. 

This  death  caused  a  deep  and  wide-spread 
sensation  in  the  community  where  it  occurred. 
Unpopular  as  he  was,  Henry  Tyrrell  had  been 
a  man  of  great  wealth,  and  consequently  of 
great  influence ;  hence  his  death  could  not  be 
other  than  an  event  of  importance.  Nobody 
regretted  him ;  nobody  gave  a  tear,  or  even  so 
much  as  a  sigh,  to  his  memory — but  still 
everybody  felt  interested  in  the  matter,  as 
people  will  feel  when  there  is  a  million  or  two 
of  property  in  question.  The  dead  man's 
wife  had  preceded  him  long  before   to   the 


other  world ;  his  only  sou  was  absent ;  so 
there  was  not  a  single  kindred  face  around  the 
death-bed  where  Hugh  Churchill  had  stood, 
and  this  in  itself  is  always  pathetic,  even 
when  such  a  man  as  Henry  Tyrrell  is  con- 
cerijed.  With  regard  to  his  heir  and  successor, 
little  was  known.  From  some  cause  or  other, 
young  Tyrrell  had  never  fancied  his  native 
place,  and  ever  since  he  attained  to  man's  es- 
tate his  visits  there  had  been  few  and  far  be- 
tween. People  said  that  the  father  and  son  did 
not  "  get  on  "  very  well,  but  this  was  mere 
conjecture ;  for  their  intercourse,  as  far  as  the 
world  knew,  had  always  been  cordial  in  the 
extreme,  and,  those  who  knew  best  said,  even 
warmly  aSectionate. 

Society  at  large,  however,  was  rather  in- 
credulous of  this,  and  many  curious  glances 
were  bent  on  Eoland  Tyrrell  as  he  stood  by 
his  father's  grave  and  watched  the  clods  of 
earth  falling  heavily  upon  the  cofiin.  He 
looked  very  pale — ghastly  pale,  in  fact — as 
everybody  observed ;  but  he  was  resolutely 
composed.  Not  a  tear  sprang  into  the  large 
dark  eyes  bent  steadfastly  downward,  not  a 
quiver  came  to  the  sternly-compressed  lips. 
"  He  hardly  assumes  a  decent  appearance  of 
grief! "  said  the  majority  of  lookers-on,  indig- 
nantly. But  there  were  others  whose  gaze 
pierced  below  the  surface,  and  more  than  one 
of  these  felt  strangely  touched  by  the  mute 
suSering  stamped  on  the  young  man's  face. 
They,  in  turn,  wondered  a  little,  and  said  to 
each  other,  "  Strange  he  should  grieve  so 
much  for  such  a  father ! "  But  they  looked  at 
him  with  respectful  sympathy,  watching  him  as 
he  turned  at  last  from  the  newly-heaped  pile 
of  earth,  as  he  crossed  the  church-yard,  pass- 
ing directly  by  the  spot  where  Albert  Church- 
ill had  lain  for  many  years,  and  drove  away 
alone  to  his  desolate  home. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral,  Hugh  and 
Margaret  Churchill  were  the  recipients  of  an 
unexpected  and  startling  surprise.  A  letter 
from  the  lawyer  of  the  late  Mr.  Tyrrell  for- 
mally notified  them  that  the  sum  of  fifty  thou- 
sand  dollars,  having  been  bequeathed  them 
by  the  will  of  the  deceased,  had  been  placed 
to  their  credit  by  his  executor,  and  awaited 
their  orders.  After  the  first  shock  of  amaze- 
ment— of  absolutely  incredulous  surprise — 
was  over,  it  would  be  hard  to  say  with  how 
much  of  burning  indignation  this  information 
was  received  by  one,  at  least,  of  the  parties 
concerned.     For  a  time  Hugh's  rage  was  nl- 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


43 


most  inarticulate — then  it  broke  forth  beyond 
all  bounds. 

"  Was  the  old  villain  mad,  or  was  it  only 
the  devil's  own  malice  which  made  him  leave 
us  such  a  posthumous  insult?"  he  cried,  ad- 
dressing Margaret,  who  sat  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  letter  which  contained  this  strange 
and  apparently  incomprehensible  intelligence. 
"  My  God  !  if  he  was  only  alive,  that  I  might 
fling  it  back  to  liim  with  words  such  as  he 
should  never  forget !  Did  he  think  that  we 
are  likely  to  accept  a  gift  from  him,  or  did  he 
only  mean  to  jeer  us  from  his  grave  with  our 
poverty  and  need?  May  his  money  perish 
with  him,  and  may  the  eternal  curse  of  God — " 

"  0  Hugh ! "  said  Margaret,  and  for  once 
her  voice  had  something  of  authority  in  it — 
"  0  Hugh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  hush  !  Is  Hen- 
ry Tyrrell's  insult — granting  that  he  meant  it 
as  an  insult — worth  such  passion  as  this  ? 
Remember — he  is  dead ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  her  brother,  bitterly,  "  but 
his  hatred,  and  the  acts  born  of  his  hatred, 
did  not  die  with  him !  Think  of  all  we  owe 
him,  Margaret — think  of  it  for  one  moment ! 
First  and  greatest,  the  death  of  our  father; 
after  that,  and  from  that,  what  a  train  of  ills  ! 
He — our  father — was  on  the  high-road  to 
fortune,  after  years  of  effort,  and,  had  he 
lived  one  year  longer,  he  would  have  made 
his  wife  and  children  independent  of  the 
world.  As  it  was — cut  oif  before  one  of  his 
schemes  had  reached  maturity — you  know  the 
bitter  poverty  which  followed,  the  privations 
which  ground  us  to  the  earth,  and  under  which 
our  mother  died  ;  you  know  what  a  hard  strug- 
gle I  have  had,  how  my  life  has  been  marred 
and  its  best  hopes  blasted.  All  of  this  we 
owe  to  Henry  Tyrrell.  And  now — now  in  his 
very  grave — he  sends  one  crowning  insult,  one 
last  injury,  and  he  is  so  far  beyond  the  reach 
of  my  arm  that  I  can  do  nothing  save  appeal 
to  God  to  judge  between  me  and  him  ! " 

"  God  has  judged,"  said  Margaret,  in  a 
low  tone.  "  Is  not  that  enough  ?  Hugh — 
stop  and  consider.  Perhaps  even  Henry 
Tyrrell  may  have  known  remorse  and  meant 
tills  as — as  a  reparation." 

"Margaret!" 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me,"  said  she, 
quietly.  "  Don't  think  that  I  would  accept 
it  sooner  than  yourself.  But  why  regard  it 
in  a  light  which  he — the  dead  man — never 
may  have  meant  ?  " 

"  I   would   stake    my  existence   that   he 


meant  it!"  Hugh  said,  fiercely.  "And  I 
would  stake  it,  also,  that  his  son — a  worthy 
son  of  such  a  father — was  only  too  glad  to 
fulfil  his  bequest,  and  thus  safely  to  wound 
and  sting  us  !  But,  thank  God  !  "  cried  the 
young  man,  with  quickening  eyes,  "Ae  is 
alive,  and  can  be  held  to  an  account." 

"  Hugh,  are  you  mad  ?  "  demanded  Mar- 
garet, turning  pale  as  she  looked  at  his  ex- 
cited face.  "  What  possible  reason  have  you 
to  talk  like  this  ?  What  has  Roland  Tyrrell 
to  do  with  the  acts  of  his  father  ?  " 

"He  has  everything  to  do  with  them," 
answered  Hugh,  coldly.  "  He  is  his  father's 
representative,  and  as  such  I  shall  hold  him. 
Don't  be  afraid  that  I  will  make  a  fool  of  my- 
self," he  went  on,  impatiently,  as  he  met  her 
eyes,  full  of  anxious  appeal.  "  The  time  has 
not  yet  come  for  a  Tyrrell  and  a  Churchill  to 
reckon  up  scores.  But,  sooner  or  later,  it 
ivill  come,  and  then  I  shall  hold  him  to  a 
stern  account.  Do  you  remember  the  old 
Corsican  custom  of  the  vendetta?  It  was  not 
a  bad  idea  that,  when  one  generation  had 
suffered  a  wrong,  another  should  avenge  it. 
Well,  I  have  sworn  a  vendetta  against  all  of 
Henry  Tyrrell's  blood,  and  I  will  never  forget 
or  forsake  it  so  long  as  God  gives  me  life  ?  " 
"  It  was  a  custom  and  an  idea  worthy  of 
heathens — not  of  Christians,"  said  Margaret. 
"So  be  it,"  answered  her  brother.  "All 
the  same,  it  is  mine.  Now  give  me  some 
pens  and  paper,  that  I  may  answer  this  law- 
yer at  once." 

The  lawyer  was  answered — in  what  spirit 
it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine — and  there  Hugh 
supposed  that  the  matter  would  end.  It  was 
not  long,  however,  before  he  learned  the  error 
of  this  opinion.  Coming  home  from  work  one 
evening — he  was  an  engineer,  in  the  employ 
of  a  mining  company — he  met  Roland  Tyrrell 
at  the  gate  of  the  pretty  little  cottage  where 
Margaret  and  himself  lived.  Advancing  from 
opposity  directions,  the  two  men  came  face 
to  face  exactly  at  this  spot. 

Through  the  soft  autumn  dusk  Hugh  had 
recognized  the  tall  figure,  moving  toward  him 
with  a  quick,  decisive  tread,  and  he  could  not 
restrain  an  emotion  of  involuntary  surprise.  It 
did  not  occur  to  him  for  a  second  that  Tyrrell 
might  wish  to  see  him,  and  it  chanced  that, 
in  order  to  be  near  the  mines,  the  cottage  in 
which  the  Churchills  lived  was  very  much  out 
of  the  large  town  of  Ridgeford,  and  in  a  sub- 
urb  chiefly  inhabited  by  the  manufacturing 


u 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


and  mining  class — for,  after  its  mines,  its 
mills  were  the  great  boast  of  Ridgeford. 
They  were  very  proud,  these  young  people, 
and  one  form  of  their  pride  had  ever  been  to 
wear  their  poverty  as  openly  and  bravely  as 
other  people  make  a  point  of  wearing  wealth. 
Hugh  would  have  scorned  himself  if  he  had 
thought  that  he  took  sufficient  interest  in  Ro- 
land Tyrrell  to  wonder  what  he  was  doing  in 
such  a  quarter  at  such  an  hour;  but,  all  the 
same,  he  felt  surprised  to  see  him. 

This  surprise  was  considerably  augmented 
■when — pausing  as  they  met — Mr.  Tyrrell  quiet- 
ly lifted  his  hat  and  spoke  : 

"  This  is  Mr.  Churchill,  is  it  not  ?  "  Then, 
as  Hugh  assented,  "  Excuse  the  liberty  I  take 
in  introducing  myself,  but  I  am  Roland  Tyr- 
rell, and  I  was  on  my  way  to  see  you.  This 
is  your  house,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  This  is  my  house,"  answered  Hugh,  in 
whose  voice  coldness  and  amazement  seemed 
struggling  for  mastery.  "  But  I  confess,  Mr. 
Tyrrell,  that  I  am  not  at  all  prepared  for  the 
honor  which  you  do  me." 

"  That  is  very  likely,"  said  Tyrrell,  smil- 
ing slightly,  though  gravely.  "  But  I  have 
something  that  I  must  say  to  you,  and,  if  you 
will  allow  me,  I  should  prefer  to  say  it  under 
your  own  roof." 

What  could  Hugh  reply  to  this  ?  Plainly 
nothing,  if  he  desired  to  keep  within  the 
bounds  of  ordinary  civility  ;  and  being,  with 
all  his  faults,  a  gentleman,  the  young  fellow 
did  desire  that  whatever  he  felt  should  be 
evinced,  and  whatever  he  had  to  do  should 
be  done,  according  to  the  letter  of  that  cour- 
tesy which  especially  distinguishes  the  gentle- 
man from  the  churl.  He  bowed,  therefore, 
though  very  coldly,  and  opened  the  gate  for 
his  unwelcome  visitor. 

"  Pray  walk  in,"  he  said. 

The  other  complied,  and  they  walked  to- 
gether up  the  short  path  which  led  to  the 
door  where  no  latch-key  was  needed,  for  it 
stood  open  to  the  dying  beauty  of  the  Octo- 
ber day,  and  showed  the  bright  flicker  of  a 
wood-fire  from  a  room  within.  Sweet  and 
home-like  it  looked — a  contrast,  indeed,  to 
the  stately,  gloomy  house  where  Roland  Tyr- 
rell lived  alone — and,  as  they  entered  the 
hall,  a  figure  started  up  from  a  low  chair  in 
front  of  the  sparkling  blaze  on  the  parlor- 
hearth 

"  Is  that  you,  Hugh  ?  "  asked  a  pleasant 
voice.     "  I  had  a  fire  made  because  I  thought 


it  would  look  cheerful,  and,  do  you  know,  1 
believe  I  have  been  half  asleep." 

"  My  sister,  Mr.  Tyrrell,"  said  Hugh,  in  a 
tone  of  ice. 

The  firelight  was  pretty  and  soft  with  its 
capricious  glow,  but  it  was  not  very  bright, 
and  the  dusk  was  deep  in  the  little  parlor,  so 
nobody  saw  much  of  the  surprise  which  Mar- 
garet Churchill  must  have  felt.  One  uncon- 
trollable start  she  gave,  but  that  was  all,  and 
her  only  welcome  to  this  strange  guest  was  a 
silent  bow. 

Then  they  sat  down  —  Margaret  in  the 
shade — and  Hugh,  who  was  ever  impetuous, 
plunged  at  once  to  the  point. 

"  I  must  repeat  that  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
imagine  what  you  can  have  to  say  that  has 
gained  me  this  visit,  Mr.  Tyrrell." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Tyrrell,  in  a  tone 
of  some  surprise.  "  Then  you  must  have  for- 
gotten very  soon  a  communication  which  you 
received  from  my  lawyer  the  other  day ;  or 
else  you  must  consider  me  very  careless  of 
my  father's  solemnly-expressed  desire  if  you 
think  I  could  rest  satisfied  with  the  decision 
you  returned  to  him." 

Hugh  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  That  matter  was  ended  when  I  answered 
your  lawyer's  letter,"  he  said.  "  If  you  have 
come  here  to  reopen  it  in  any  manner,  you 
have  given  yourself  a  great  deal  of  useless 
trouble." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  determined  to 
refuse  the  bequest  of  a  man  who,  however 
deeply  he  may  have  wronged  you,  has  passed 
beyond  the  reach  of  your  resentment  now  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  answered  Hugh,  almost  fierce- 
ly, "  that  if  the  man  who  bequeathed  this  in- 
sult to  those  whom  he  has  so  deeply  injured, 
were  only  alive,  I  would  fling  it  scornfully 
into  his  teeth.  Since  that  is  impossible,  I 
cast  it  back  into  the  hands  of  those  to  whom 
he  delegated  this  last  office  of  hatred,  and  " — 
his  voice  fairly  trembled  with  passion  here — 
"  bid  them  take  heed  how  they  come  to  press 
the  offer  of  that  which  has  been  once  re- 
jected." 

Leaning  forward  in  the  firelight,  Roland 
Tyrrell  fastened  his  dark  eyes  keenly  on  the 
kindling  face  before  him.  At  those  last 
words  of  menace,  a  white  hand  stole  out  of 
the  dusky  shadows  and  laid  itself  with  a  gen- 
tle, warning  touch  on  Hugh's  shoulder.  Tyr- 
rell's gaze  fell  for  a  moment  on  this  before 
he  spoke.    Then  he  said,  as  quietly  as  ever : 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


45 


•  "  I  judged  from  your  letter  that  you  took 
some  such  view  of  my  father's  bequest  as 
this,  and  I  came  prepared  to  find  you  far 
from  moderate  in  feeling  or  expression.  I  see 
you  wonder  w%  I  came  "  (the  question  had 
risen  plainly  to  Hugh's  eyes).  "  Simply  for 
this  :  to  do  an  act  of  justice  to  the  dead. 
You  say  that,  in  leaving  you  a  legacy,  my 
father  meant  to  leave  you  a  posthumous  in- 
sult. In  this  you  wrong  him  as  much  as  it 
is  in  the  power  of  one  man  to  wrong  another. 
For  many  years  before  his  death  he  bore  about 
a  continually  augmenting  sense  of  the  great 
injury  he  once  did  you.  It  poisoned  his  life 
so  entirely  that  his  only  comfort  rested  in 
the  thought  of  some  reparation,  which,  how- 
ever inadequate  it  might  be,  would  at  least 
serve  to  mark  his  great  remorse  and  great 
desire  to  make  atonement.  He  knew  that, 
besides  other  suffering,  his  act  had  entailed 
great  pecuniary  privation  upon  you,  and  this, 
at  least,  he  wished  to  remove.  During  his 
life  he  was  aware  that  you  would  accept  no 
service  at  his  hands,  but  he  trusted  that,  after 
his  death,  you,  who  call  yourself  a  Christian 
man,  would  not  refuse  the  poor  and  weak 
atonement  which  he  strove  to  make.  I,  his 
son — I,  who  witnessed  more  of  his  suffering 
than  any  other,  save  his  Maker — I  ask  you 
now  if  you  dare  to  do  this  ?  " 

The  grave,  steadfast  voice,  with  a  I'ing  of 
pathos  in  it  so  slight  that  a  dull  ear  would 
not  have  caught  it,  had  a  certain  accent  of 
command  as  it  asked  the  last  question — as  it 
seemed  to  plead  for  that  poor  soul  gone, 
"with  all  its  errors  thick  upon  it,"  to  the 
judgment-seat  of  God.  But  it  pleaded  to 
deaf  ears  as  far  as  Hugh  Churchill  was  con- 
cerned. He  had  listened  coldly;  he  spoke, 
if  possible,  more  coldly  still : 

"  Once  more  I  repeat  that  you  waste  your 
time  when  you  speak  on  this  subject,  Mr. 
Tyrrell.  I  grant  the  truth  and  sincerity  of 
all  you  say,  but  my  decision  is  unalterably 
fixed.  An  angel  sent  from  high  Heaven 
could  not  make  me  consent  to  accept  the 
least  favor  or  benefit  from  your  father,  or 
from  any  of  his  name  and  blood.  I  must  beg 
you  to  accept  this  as  final." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  thus  signifying  that 
the  interview  was  at  an  end  ;  but,  to  his  sur- 
prise, Roland  Tyrrell  did  not  rise  also.  He 
quietly  kept  his  seat,  still  leaning  slightly 
forward,  with  his  eyes  turned  toward  that 
region  of  dim  shadow  where  Margaret  sat, 


like  a  faint,  suggestive  outline  of  a  woman's 
form. 

"  You  forget  that  your  decision  is  not  the 
only  one,  Mr.  Churchill,"  he  said,  at  length. 
"  Your  sister  is  of  legal  age,  is  she  not  ?  I 
have  yet  to  hear  whether  she  rejects  my  fa- 
ther's reparation  as  unequivocally  as  you 
have  done." 

"  I  spoke  for  my  sister  as  well  as  for  my- 
self," Hugh  answered,  haughtily.  "  ilargaret 
is  here,  however.  If  she  desires,  she  can 
speak  for  herself." 

"  I  don't  desire  it,  Hugh,"  said  Margaret's 
voice,  trembling  softly  out  of  the  shadows. 
"I  would  rather  you  spoke  for  me." 

"  I  have  spoken,"  said  Hugh,  laconically. 

"  But  pardon  me  if  I  ask,  is  this  right  ?  " 
said  Tyrrell,  for  the  first  time  directly  ad- 
dressing Margaret.  "  You  should  think  and 
act  for  yourself — not  follow  blindly  your 
brother's  example.  I  can  scarcely  think  that 
you — a  woman — are  as  utterly  without  com- 
passion for  the  sufferings  and  atonement  of 
a  most  unhappy  man  as  he  seems  to  be." 

"  My  sister  needs  no  schooling  in  her 
duty,  sir,"  said  Hugh,  enraged  at  this  bold- 
ness.— "  Margaret,  speak  for  yourself,  and 
satisfy  Mr.  Tyrrell  that,  on  a  point  of  honor, 
we  Churchills  always  think  alike." 

The  young  autocrat  uttered  this  imperi- 
ously, but  for  a  moment  no  answer  was  re- 
turned. The  flickering  play  of  the  firelight 
rose  and  fell  many  times  before  Margaret 
spoke  from  her  nook  of  shadows  —  spoke 
gravely,  yet  very  gently  : 

"  I  think  Hugh  is  quite  right,  Mr.  Tyrrell, 
in  declining  to  accept  the  bequest  of  which 
you  speak.  Apart  from  his  influence,  I  am 
sure  that  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  me 
for  a  moment  to  accept  any  obligation — above 
all,  such  an  obligation — from  the  hand  that 
shed  my  father's  blood.  But" — her  voice 
seemed  to  gather  strength  here — "I  think 
Hugh  is  very  wrong  in  his  great  bitterness 
of  feeling,  and  I,  having  heard  and  believed 
all  that  you  said  of  his  remorse,  would  be 
glad  if  your  father  stood  here  this  moment, 
to  learn  how  fully  and  freely  one  Churchill, 
at  least,  forgives  the  crime  he  committed  and 
the  wrong  he  wrought." 

There  was  a  minute's  silence  after  these 
words  were  uttered.  Indeed,  it  would  be 
hard  to  say  which  of  her  two  listeners  Mar- 
garet had  taken  most  by  surprise.  Tyrrell, 
however,  recovered  his  power  of  speech  and 


46 


HUGH'S   VENDETTA. 


action  first.  While  Hugh  still  glared  in 
amazement  at  his  sister,  he  rose  and  weut 
over  to  her  side.  She  certainly  had  not 
meant  to  give  him  her  hand,  but  he  took  it 
in  his  own,  nevertheless. 

"  God  bless  you  1 "  he  said,  in  a  voice  that 
quivered  with  emotion.  "  You  have  spoken 
as  a  brave,  generous  woman  should  speak, 
and  I — I  shall  never  cease  to  be  grateful  to 
you ! " 

More  than  this  he  could  not  say,  even  if 
he  had  desired  to  do  so,  for  Hugh  interfered, 
scornfully  and  coldly : 

"  lly  sister  is  a  woman,  as  you  remark, 
Mr.  Tyrrell,  and,  after  the  fashion  of  her  sex, 
she  has  introduced  a  purely  irrelevant  ques- 
tion into  a  matter  of  business.  Since  we 
have  both  agreed  in  declining  your  father's 
legacy,  however,  I  believe  there  is  nothing 
more  to  say." 

This  time  Eoland  Tyrrell  took  the  hint  so 
curtly  given.  He  released  Margaret's  hand, 
and,  with  a  parting  bow  to  her,  passed  out 
of  the  room.  But  at  the  door  of  the  cottage 
— whither  Hugh  had  followed  him — he  paused. 

"  Is  there  any  reason,  Mr.  Churchill,"  he 
said,  frankly  and  kindly,  "  why  the  unfortu- 
nate enmity  of  our  fathers  should  be  revived 
and  perpetuated  in  the  second  generation  ? 
Is  there  any  reason  why  ^ce  should  hold  aloof 
for  the  sake  of  the  sins  or  errors  of  others  ? 
I  confess  that  it  would  make  me  very  happy 
to  bury  the  miserable  past,  and  to  greet  you 
as  a  friend." 

As  he  spoke,  he  extended  his  hand,  with 
a  cordial  grace  which  few  men  could  have  re- 
sisted, but  Hugh  Churchill  drew  haughtily 
back. 

"  It  is  very  magnanimous  in  you,  Mr.  Tyr- 
rell, to  be  willing  to  bury  a  past  that  has 
never  injured  you,"  he  said.  "  But  I  am  not 
yet  in  a  position  to  meet  your  generosity  on 
equal  ground.  When  I  have  paid,  to  the  ut- 
termost farthing,  the  debt  which  I  owe  your 
father,  and  when  I  have  gained  once  more 
the  level  from  which  my  father  -was  cast, 
then,  if  you  choose  to  offer  your  hand  again, 
I  may  accept  it.     Not  before." 

"Believe  me,  I  am  sorry,"  said  Eoland 
Tyrrell,  in  a  low  tone,  "  and  believe,  also, 
that  you  cannot  readily  do  any  thing  which  I 
shall  resent.  The  great  wrong  my  father 
wrought — the  wrong  for  which  I  would  freely 
give  my  life  to  atone — stands  ever  between 
us  like  a  shield.     Yet,  I  do  not  think  I  shall 


be  likely  to  offer  again  the  hand  you  have 
once  rejected.  Pardon  me  now  for  having,  in 
a  measure,  thrust  myself  upon  you,  and — good- 
evening." 

He  lifted  his  hat  ceremoniously  and  walked 
slowly  away  in  the  gathering  dusk.  Stand- 
ing at  the  parlor-window,  Margaret  Churchill 
saw  his  tall,  stately  figure  vanish  from  sight 
as  he  passed  out  of  the  gate,  and  took  a  path 
which  led  through  a  cUbris  of  newly-rising 
houses,  to  where  the  long  lines  of  quivering 
lamps  marked  the  populous  town. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  GRAY,  lowering  sky  overhead,  the  earth 
soaked  with  rain  underneath,  and  a  general 
air  of  dreariness  and  dampness  everywhere, 
was  what  met  the  eye  on  a  chill,  November 
afternoon,  three  weeks  after  Roland  Tyrrell's 
visit  to  the  Churchill  cottage.  For  a  week 
Ridgeford  hud  suffered  from  rains  such  as  had 
not  been  known  within  generations,  and  in 
the  wake  of  the  rains  had  followed  a  most 
disastrous  flood.  Houses  had  been  swept 
away,  lives  had  been  lost,  and  property  to 
the  amount  of  millions  damaged  by  the  tur- 
bulent violence  of  a  stream  just  beyond  the 
town — the  famous  water-power  that  turned 
its  mills  and  made  its  wealth,  now  transformed 
from  a  slave  into  a  tyrant.  At  last,  one  af- 
ternoon, however,  the  windows  of  heaven 
seemed  to  have  closed,  the  sullen  clouds  still 
hung  heavy  and  dark,  but  the  rain  had  ceased 
for  the  first  time  in  eight  days  ;  and  arrayed 
in  a  water-proof— provided  also  with  a  large 
umbrella— Margaret  Churchill  took  advantage 
of  the  lull  to  set  forth  for  some  necessary 
domestic  purchases. 

At  first  she  thought  that  she  would  not 
go  far  into  Ridgeford,  but  would  make  her 
purchases  at  some  of  the  suburban  shops 
that  lined  the  way.  But  we  have  most  of  us 
known  the  unsatisfactory  character  of  sub- 
urban shops,  and  Margaret,  finding  exercise 
pleasant  after  her  week's  confinement  in  the 
house,  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  stop 
short  of  the  establishments  where  she  usually 
dealt.  Walking  on,  therefore,  she  soon  found 
herself  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  jostling  among 
a  throng  of  people  on  the  wet  pavements, 
and  finally  talking  across  a  familiar  counter 
to  a  familiar  dealer  in  teas  and  other  grocer- 
ies.   The  man  knew  her  well,  and  liked  her 


HUGH'S  YEXDETTA. 


47 


bright  face,  as  every  one  did  who  came  in 
contact  with  it;  so,  while  he  took  down  her 
orders,  and  tied  up  her  bundles,  he  descanted 
freely  and  fully  on  the  great  Ridgeford  topic 
— the  terrible  and  all-absorbing  flood.  De- 
spite the  papers,  and  despite  Hugh,  Marga- 
ret had  scarcely  appreciated  the  awful  deso- 
lation which  had  been  wrought  until  it  was 
brought  homo  to  her  by  the  many  minute 
particulars — the  personal  hardships  and  losses 
— that  go  to  make  up  the  full  sum  of  such  a 
public  calamity.  These  were  poured  upon 
her  now  in  such  stream  that  it  was  only 
when  a  partial  lull  in  the  garrulity  of  her  in- 
formant came,  that  she  was  able  to  take  up 
her  bundles  and  prepare  to  leave  the  shop. 
As  she  was  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  the  pro- 
prietor stepped  from  behind  the  counter  to 
say,  by  way  of  adieu  : 

"  If  you  have  seen  nothing  of  the  flood. 
Miss  Churchill,  it  would  be  worth  your  while 
to  take  a  look  at  it.  You  are  hardly  likely 
ever  to  see  such  another — at  least,  the  Lord 
preserve  us  from  its  like  in  Ridgeford  again  ! 
If  you  go  home  by  Light  Street — it  won't 
take  you  very  much  out  of  your  way — you 
can  get  a  tolerable  view  of  the  stream  and 
the  houses  that  are  under  water." 

Margaret  thanked  him,  and  said  that  she 
thought  she  icould  go  home  by  Light  Street. 
She  almost  changed  her  mind,  however,  when 
she  came  out  and  saw  how  threatening  the 
clouds  were ;  but,  on  consideration,  she  found 
it  impossible  to  resist  the  temptation  of  see- 
ing the  flood,  now  that  it  was  at  its  height, 
so,  clutching  her  umbrella  firmly,  she  turned 
her  steps  toward  Light  Street.  It  was  very 
much  as  the  dealer  in  teas  and  other  grocer- 
ies had  told  her.  From  this  rather  elevated 
point,  she  had  a  "  tolerable  view  "  of  the 
submerged  quarter,  and  of  the  angry,  turbid 
water  which  had  broken  its  bonds  and  done 
all  the  mischief.  But  Miss  Churchill  was  a 
young  lady  of  ambition,  and,  having  seen 
thus  much,  she  wanted  to  see  more.  The 
gloomy  desolation  of  the  sight  fascinated  her. 
She  was  anxious,  and  determined  to  have 
more  than  a  mere  glimpse  of  it. 

To  obtain  this  was — or  seemed  to  her — 
easy  enough.  By  skirting  around  the  sub- 
urbs of  the  town,  she  could  reach  home  as 
safely,  if  not  as  speedily,  as  by  following  the 
direct  course.  It  must  be  conceded  that  this 
was  not  a  very  prudent  project,  considering 
the  gathering  gloom  of  the  sky,  the  lateness 


of  the  hour — for  four  o'clock  is  late  in  cloudy 
November  weather — and  the  fact  that  her 
path  would  lie  through  half-built  suburbs,  in- 
habited almost  entirely  by  manufacturing 
operatives.  But  Margaret  could  be  wilful 
sometimes,  and  she  was  wilful  just  now.  "  I'll 
not  have  another  chance,"  she  thought,  with 
a  glance  at  the  clouds  which  should  have  de- 
terred her.  Then,  gathering  her  water-proof 
closer  around  her,  she  flitted  away. 

In  fifteen  minutes,  it  began  to  rain ;  at 
half-past  four,  it  was  pouring  torrents ;  at  a 
quarter  to  five,  a  man,  walking  hurriedly  along 
with  his  hat  pulled  over  his  brows,  and  his 
coat  buttoned  up  to  his  chin,  in  vain  defence 
against  the  sweeping  blast,  came  first  upon 
an  umbrella  scudding  aimlessly  along  before 
the  wind,  and  then  upon  a  soaked  figure  of  a 
woman  standing  helplessly  in  the  midst  of  a 
rising  pool  of  water.  Night  was  closing  over 
the  wild  scene  of  storm;  the  river,  not  far 
off,  was  pouring  over  its  rapids  with  a  sound 
like  that  of  many  Niagaras ;  the  scattered 
houses  of  the  neighborhood  scarcely  showed 
a  light — for,  in  truth,  they  had  all  been  for- 
saken by  their  inhabitants — and  the  whole 
picture  was  one  which  Roland  Tyrrell  was 
just  thinking  could  scarcely  be  matched  for 
complete — and  it  might  readily  prove  danger- 
ous— desolation,  when,  to  his  amazement,  he 
stumbled  upon  this  solitary  woman,  who, 
lifting  up  her  face  in  the  dying  light,  proved 
to  be  Margaret  Churchill. 

"  Good  Heavens  ! "  he  said,  seizing  her  in- 
voluntarily, "  Miss  Churchill !     Is  it  i/on  ?  " 

"  0  Mr.  Tyrrell ! "  said  Margaret,  with  a 
half- hysterical  gasp  of  relief  Wet,  bewil- 
dered, almost  despairing,  as  she  had  been  the 
moment  before,  she  clung  to  him  as  she  might 
have  clung  to  Hugh.  It  was  so  good  to  have 
a  protector — and,  in  truth,  few  women  could 
have  asked  a  better  protector  than  he  who 
stood  looking  down  upon  her  in  amazement. 

"  Is  it  you  ?  "  he  repeated,  as  if  he  could 
not  realize  the  fact.  "For  Heaven's  sake, 
what  are  you  doing  here?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Margaret,  still  un- 
strung by  the  revulsion  of  terror  and  relief. 
"I  started  from  home  this  way,"  she  went 
on,  after  a  minute,  "and  I — I  think  I  must 
have  got  lost.  Do  you  know  where  we  arc, 
Mr.  Tyrrell  ?  " 

"  Ferfectly  well,"  answered  Tyrrell.  "  We 
are  close  in  the  neighborhood  of  my  mills — 
and  a  very  dangerous  neighborhood  it  is  just 


4S 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


HOW.  To  think  of  u  woman  here  alone  at 
such  an  hour!  You  might  have  wandered 
into  the  flood,  or  fiiUen  into  the  hands  of 
prowling  ruffians— Good  Heaven !  how  could 
you  be  so  rash  ?  "   he  broke  off,  almost  an- 

"  I— I  don't  know,"  said  Margaret,  again 
— this  time  penitently.  "  I  wanted  to  see  the 
flood.  It  is  not  my  fault,  Mr.  Tyrrell— I  was 
sure  I  could  reach  home  this  way." 

"  What  madness  ! "  he  said.  Then,  in  a 
lower  tone,  "God  knows  where  you  would 
have  been  in  the  morning,  if  I  had  not  chanced 
to  stumble  upon  you.     Come  this  way." 

"  If  you  will  only  be  kind  enough  to  show 
me  how  to  get  home,"  she  said,  meekly,  cling- 
ing to  him  closely,  as  he  hurried  her  along 
through  the  storm  and  gathering  darkness. 

"I'm  afraid  that  is  impossible,"  he  an- 
swered. "  We  are  in  a  different  quarter  alto- 
gether, and  you  will  suffer  now  from  exposure 
to  such  a  storm.  We  must  find  a  refuge  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"But  Hugh  will  be  so  uneasy,"  pleaded 
Margaret. 

"Then  he  should  have  taken  better  care 
of  you,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

After  this,  nothing  more  was  said.  Tyr- 
rell's decided  manner  bore  down  every  thing, 
and  Margaret  felt  that  indeed  any  refuge 
would  be  better  than  the  storm  of  howling 
wind  and  rain  which  beat  upon  them  now. 
She  did  not  ask  where  they  were  going,  as 
her  companion  half  led,  half  carried  her  over 
much  uneven  ground,  and  through  number- 
less pools  of  water;  but  she  felt  sure  that 
wherever  that  strong  arm  and  gentle  hand 
led  her  she  would  be  safe,  and  with  that  con- 
sciousness she  was  wise  enough  to  be  satis- 
fied. 

At  last  she  heard  Tyrrell  say  "Thank 
God  ! "  and,  looking  round,  she  saw  the  dark 
outline  of  a  building  close  at  hand.  The 
nest  moment  he  partly  released  her  while  he 
opened  a  door,  then  drew  her  quickly  within, 
and  closed  it  behind  her.  The  sense  of  relief 
was  almost  overpowering — the  contrast  be- 
tween the  fierce  battle  they  had  been  fighting 
and  the  refuge  they  had  gained — and,  spent 
from  her  long  effort,  Margaret  would  assured- 
ly have  fallen  if  the  same  arm  which  had  led 
had  not  now  upheld  her. 

"  Courage ! "  Tyrrell  said,  in  a  tone  of  re- 
assurance, but  also  of  anxiety.  "  Don't  give 
way  now  that  we  are  safe !    Can  I  trust  you 


to  stand  alone  one  minute,  while  I  strike  a 
light  ?  " 

Margaret  said  "  Yes ; "  but  no  sooner  was 
the  support  of  his  arm  withdrawn,  than  she 
quietly  sank  down  upon  the  floor.  There  she 
sat,  leaning  her  head  against  the  wall  near 
which  she  chanced  to  be,  while  he  felt  about 
a  little,  finally  struck  a  match,  and  then 
lighted  a  lamp. 

By  the  aid  of  this,  she  saw  something  of 
the  habitation  into  which  she  had  entered. 
Plainly  a  bachelor's  den,  for  there  was  a  bed 
in  one  corner,  a  cupboard  in  another,  a  table 
covered  with  books  and  papers,  a  pipe  and  a 
pair  of  pistols  over  the  mantel,  a  kettle  on 
the  hearth,  and  a  curious  sort  of  masculine 
order — which  is  a  very  different  thing  indeed 
from  feminine  order — in  all  the  arrangements. 
A  glance  at  the  walls  and  ceiling  showed  her 
that  it  was  one  of  the  better  class  of  work- 
men's cottages  which  was  thus  metamor- 
phosed. 

Having  lighted  his  lamp,  Mr.  Tyrrell's 
next  step  was  to  rummage  in  his  cupboard, 
from  which  he  brought  forth  a  bottle  and  a 
tumbler, 

"  You  must  tabe  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy. 
Miss  Churchill,"  he  said,  bringing  these  up  to 
Margaret.  "  It  is  your  only  hope  of  avoiding 
an  attack  of  illness.  Good  Heavens,  how  wet 
you  are!"  he  went  on,  touching  her  dress  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  meekly.  The  hood 
of  her  water-proof  had  fallen  back,  and  her 
hair — drenched  as  a  mermaid's — was  rolling 
loosely  down  her  back.  As  she  looked  up, 
she  certainly  presented  as  forlorn  an  appear- 
ance as  a  woman  whom  Nature  had  made 
pretty  could  possibly  manage  to  do.  She 
swallowed  the  brandy  without  any  demur 
whatever,  then  let  him  disembarrass  her  of  her 
cloak,  and  assist  her  into  a  large  easy-chair, 
where  he  bade  her  be  quiet  for  five  minutes. 

She  obeyed,  watching  with  languid  yet 
slightly  -  amused  interest  his  proceedings. 
Certainly  he  was  very  deft  in  knowing  what 
to  do  and  how  to  do  it.  In  two  minutes  he 
had  kindled  a  fire  which  was  soon  burning 
brightly,  and  put  the  kettle  upon  it.  Then 
he  fished  a  pair  of  dingy  slippers  from  a  re- 
cess and  brought  them  to  her. 

"  You  must  take  off  your  shoes  and  put 
these  on,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sorry  that  I  have 
nothing  else  which  I  can  offer  you." 

"  This  is  all  I  shall  need,"  answered  she. 


HUGH'S  YEXDETTA. 


49 


"  The  water-proof  did  its  duty,  and  I'm  not 
very  wet.     But  you — " 

"  Xever  mind  about  me,"  lie  interrupted. 
"  Come  up  to  the  fire  and  dry  yourself  as  well 
as  you  can.  I  am  going  out  for  a  few  min- 
utes." 

He  went  out,  and  did  not  return  for  at 
least  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  By  that  time 
Margaret  had  changed  her  shoes,  dried — at 
least  in  a  measure — her  drenched  skirts, 
shaken  out  her  hair,  realized  her  position,  and 
summoned  back  sufficient  spirit  to  meet  it. 
It  was  a  very  changed  face,  flushed  half  by 
the  fire,  half  by  excitement,  and  (if  there  can 
possibly  be  three  halves  to  a  whole)  half  per- 
haps by  the  brandy  she  bad  been  forced  to 
swallow,  which  turned  round  when  Roland 
Tyrrell  entered,  if  possible  more  drenched 
than  before. 

"  I  have  been  out  to  observe  the  weather, 
Miss  Churchill,"  he  said,  sinking  involuntarily 
into  a  chair.  "  I  fear  that  it  will  make  a  pris- 
oner of  you  for  some  hours  to  come — proba- 
bly, indeed,  for  the  night.  I  have  never  seen 
a  more  terrible  storm,  and  the  flood  is  rising 
rapidly.  God  pity  the  poor  in  its  path  to- 
night !  "  he  added,  half  to  himself. 

*'  Are  we  in  danger  ? "  asked  Margaret, 
shivering  slightly,  for  even  above  the  voice 
of  the  tempest  she  could  hear  the  terrible 
roar  of  the  river. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered.  "  Do  you  think 
I  would  keep  you  here  if  you  were  in  danger  ? 
This  is  a  very  elevated  position.  Do  you 
know  Conrad's  Hill  ?  That  is  where  you  are, 
and  this  house  is  one  of  a  number  which  I 
■was  building  for  my  mill-operatives.  They 
are  not  likely  to  need  them  now,"  he  said, 
with  a  shrug. 

Margaret's  communicative  grocer  had  told 
her  that  among  the  mill-owners  Mr.  Tyrrell 
had  sufi"ered  most  severely — that,  in  fact,  he 
was  very  nearly  "  as  good  as  a  ruined  man  " 
— so  the  tone  of  this  last  sentence  did  not 
surprise  her.  It  only  made  her  feel  very 
sorry  for  him,  and  she  looked  up  with  her 
quick  eyes  full  of  sympathy. 

"  Is  that  why  you  are  here  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  ?  "  he  repeated,  looking  a  little  puz- 
zled. "  The  destruction  of  my  mills,  do  you 
mean?  No,  I  came  here  to  be  within  reach 
of  the  sufferers  from  the  flood,  and  to  be  able 
to  relieve  them  somewhat.  It  is  little  enough 
that  one  can  do  ! "  he  added,  with  a  short  sigh. 

He  seemed  so  utterly  unconscious  of  hav- 


ing done  any  thing  himself — he  seemed  to 
consider  it  so  entirely  natural  that  he  should 
have  forsaken  his  comfortable  and  pleasant 
associations  to  come  and  live  in  an  operative's 
cottage,  and  to  devote  his  days  to  the  aid  of 
those  who  had  worked  for  him — that  Mar- 
garet really  had  nothing  to  say.  One  cannot 
well  praise  a  man  who  does  not  know  that  he 
has  done  any  thing  for  which  to  be  praised. 
After  a  while,  however,  she  looked  at  him 
again,  and  suggested  that  he  was  very  wet. 

"  I  am  used  to  that,"  he  said,  smiling  a 
little. 

Still  he  drew  nearer  the  fire,  and,  when 
she  insisted  that  he  should  take  his  slippers 
— her  own  shoes  being  dry  by  this  time — he 
could  not  refuse  to  exchange  his  wet  boots 
for  them.  This,  of  course,  made  him  more 
comfortable,  and,  observing  that  the  top  of 
the  kettle  was  being  merrily  lifted  off  by  the 
steam,  he  asked  Margaret  if  she  had  had 
any  supper. 

When  she  replied  in  the  negative,  he  went 
to  his  cupboard  and  brought  forth  a  teapot 
and  paper  of  tea. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  prefer  coffee,"  he  said, 
a  little  anxiously,  "  for  I  never  drink  it  my- 
self, and  I  have  no  means  to  make  it,  nor,  in- 
deed, any  to  make." 

Margaret  hastened  to  assure  him  of  her 
preference  for  tea,  thinking  the  while  a  little 
blankly  of  the  pound  or  two  of  the  best  Oo- 
long which  she  had  lost  in  the  struggle  to  re- 
tain her  umbrella,  and  watched  the  process 
of  steeping  with  the  appreciation  of  a  good 
house-keeper.  But  she  could  not  remain 
quiet  when  he  next  produced  a  loaf  of  bread 
and  proceeded  to  cut  it  into  slices  for  toast. 

"  I  can  do  that,"  she  said,  eagerly. 
"  Please  let  me,"  as  he  demurred,  and  declined 
to  resign  the  toasting-fork.  "  You  have  no 
idea  how  very  nice  my  toast  is.  Hugh  will 
never  let  a  servant  make  any  for  him.  Look  I 
you  are  burning  that  piece.  Pray  give  it  to 
me!" 

She  pleaded  so  earnestly  that  he  had  no 
alternative  but  to  let  her  have  her  own  way  ; 
so  she  sat  down  to  toast  the  bread  and  scorch 
her  face  in  peace.  She  made  a  very  pretty 
picture  on  the  hearth  in  the  flickering  fire- 
light, with  her  bright-brown  hair  loose  about 
her  shoulders ;  and  Tyrrel,  who  had  mean- 
while brought  forth  a  half-eaten  ham  from  his 
inexhaustible  cupboard,  could  not  but  pause 
now  and  then,  in  the  business  of  cutting  it,  to 


50 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


look,  and  wonder  if  he  was  awake  or  dream- 
ing. 

It  was  a  very  sociable  little  supper  to 
which  they  sat  down  after  a  while,  and  by  this 
time  they  had  become  quite  sociable  them- 
selves ;  so  that,  when  Margaret  began  plait- 
ing her  hair  to  get  it  out  of  the  way  (for  she 
had  lost  all  such  necessary  appendages  as 
comb  and  hair-pins),  she  gave  Tyrrell  a  reca- 
pitulation of  the  losses  which  the  storm  had 
entailed  upon  her. 

"  I  have  paid  almost  as  dearly  as  Eve  for 
my  curiosity,"  she  said.  "  I  have  lost  an  um- 
brella— Hugh's  umbrella,  and  a  very  good  one 
— three  pounds  of  tea,  a  hat  and  veil  which  I 
bought  only  the  other  day,  and  two  braids, 
which  are  incomparably  the  greatest  loss  of 
all." 

"  I  should  not  think  you  needed  such 
things  as  braids,"  Tyrrell  remarked.  "  Your 
own  hair  is  very  abundant." 

"  So  it  is,"  she  answered,  threading  the 
soft  locks  through  her  fingers  ;  "  but,  all  the 
same,  one  needs  braids  when  fashion  dictates 
that  every  woman  shall  wear  exactly  three 
times  as  much  hair  as  could  possibly  grow  on 
her  head." 

"  You  did  not  use  to  wear  them,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  him  ciuickly,  and  he  saw 
the  bright  blood  come  like  a  flash  to  her  face. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  forgotten  ?  "  he 
said,  with  something  which  seemed  like  sud- 
den passion.  "  My  memory  is  not  so  short, 
Margaret."  Then,  after  a  pause  which  she  did 
not  break:  "  Sometimes  I  wish  to  Heaven  it 
were  !  These  five  years  have  been  little  else 
than  one  long  torture  and  hunger  to  me — 
such  hunger  for  one  sight  of  your  face  that  I 
would  often  have  given  the  best  years  of  life 
to  see  it  for  one  half-hour  as  I  see  it  now." 

"  Is  this  kind  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  not 
at  him,  but  at  the  leaping  blaze  before  them. 
"You  know  that  I  am  here  in  your  power — 
is  it  generous  to  talk  to  me  like  this  ?  " 

"  No — it  is  not,"  he  answered,  quickly. 
"  Forgive  me  for  having  done  so.  But  how 
can  I  see  you  and  not  think  of  that  happy 
fortnight  when  I  saw  you  first — five  long 
years  ago  !  It  seems  to  me,"  he  added,  a  little 
wistfully,  "  that  you  did  not  think  so  much 
then  of  the  fact  that  I  was  a  Tyrrell,  and  you 
a  Churchill,  as  you  do  now." 

"  How  could  I  ?  "  she  asked,  still  avert- 


ing her  gaze.  "  I  was  little  more  than  a 
child,  and  I  had  heard  very  little  of — of  your 
name.  I  scarcely  realized,  indeed,  when  I 
met  you  as  one  of  that  gay  party  at  Beech- 
dale,  who  you  were,  until  I  came  home  and — 
Hugh  told  me." 

"  No  doubt  he  told  you  also  that  it  was 
your  duty  to  hate  the  son  of  your  father's 
murderer." 

This  was  so  true  that  she  could  not  deny 
it,  therefore  she  said  nothing. 

"  Tell  me,  Margaret,"  said  Tyrrell,  bend- 
ing forward,  "  has  he  made  you  hate  me  ? 
You  did  not  use  to  do  it,  I  know ;  for  I  do 
not  think  there  was  ever  a  sweeter  or  bright- 
er thing  on  earth  than  your  face  when  I  saw 
it  last.  But  how  can  I  tell  what  five  years 
have  done?  " 

"  Five  years  have  not  taught  me  to  hate 
you,  Mr.  Tyrrell,"  she  said,  turning  and  look- 
ing at  him  with  her  soft  brown  eyes.  "  But " 
— and  her  voice  had  a  ring  of  decision  in  it 
which  he  knew  well  how  to  interpret — "  they 
have  not  tauglit  me  either  to  forget  that  I  am 
Albert  Churchill's  daughter." 

"  And  Hugh  Churchill's  sister,"  he  said,  a 
little  bitterly. 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  answered, 
coloring  ;  "  but  you  are  mistaken.  Hugh  has 
never  succeeded  in  influencing  me  to  his 
opinions.  He  would  gladly  make  me  hate  you 
as — pardon  me  that  I  must  confess  it — as 
he  does  ;  but  I  hope  you  will  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  he  has  never  done  so.  Even  if  I 
did  not  forgive  your  father — and  God  knows 
that  I  do  ! — I  could  not  be  so  unjust  as  to 
hold  you  accountable  for  his  crime.  J  could 
not,  Mr.  Tyrrell !  "  she  repeated,  almost  pas- 
sionately. 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  said.  "  I  believe  you 
and  thank  you.  But  for  the  rest — 0  Mar- 
garet !  for  the  rest !  Am  I  alone,  of  all  men, 
to  have  no  opportunity  or  hope  to  win  you 
because  my  name  is  Tyrrell  ?  " 

"  You  must  feel  as  well  as  I  do  that  there 
is  a  gulf  between  us  that  nothing  can  bridge," 
she  answered,  gravely.  "  It  is  hopeless  to 
talk  of  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Tyrrell — worse  than 
hopeless,  indeed.  It  seems  Uke  an  insult  to 
the  dead.  I  am  sorry — oh,  what  a  weak  word 
that  is  ! — I  am  far,  far  more  than  sorry  that 
it  should  have  fallen  to  my  lot  to  give  you 
pain,  but  the  truth  must  be  faced  ;  if  you  and 
I  lived  forever,  we  could  never  be  more  to 
each  other  than  we  are  now." 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


51 


"  Xever,  Margaret  ?  " 
"  Never." 

She  did  not  speak  bitterly  or  vehemently ; 
oa  tlie  contrary,  she  spoke  with  great  sadness 
and  infinite  gentleness,  but  Tyrrell  felt  to  the 
very  centre  of  his  soul  that  Hugh's  fiery 
hatred  was  more  likely  to  turn  into  love  than 
this  decision  of  his  sister  to  be  moved  or 
shaken.  The  young  engineer  had  been  right 
when  he  said,  in  his  impetuous  pride,  "  On  a 
point  of  honor  we  Churchills  always  think 
alike,"  and  even  he  might  have  been  satisfied 
that  Margaret  remembered  as  deeply  as  him- 
self their  black  and  bloody  debt  to  Henry 
Tyrrell. 

After  her  last  words  there  was  silence  in 
the  room.  The  wind  howled,  the  rain  fell, 
the  river  roared  without.  There  were  many 
desolate  and  aching  hearts  in  Ridgeford  that 
night ;  many  who  had  seen  fortune,  and  not 
a  few  who  had  seen  friends  and  relations,  go 
down  in  the  merciless  flood ;  but  none  were 
more  desolate,  none  ached  with  a  more  dreary 
seuse  of  hopeless  loss,  than  his  who  sat  by 
that  sparkling  fire  with  Margaret  Churchill's 
fair  face  opposite  him. 

After  a  while,  seeing  that  the  night  was 
wearing  on,  she  asked  anxiously  if  there  was 
no  possible  hope  for  her  to  get  home.  He 
answered  by  bidding  her  come  to  a  window 
and  drawing  back  the  blind. 

"  Shade  your  eyes  and  look  out,"  he  said. 
"  Then  tell  me  what  you  see." 

She  obeyed — that  is,  she  obeyed  in  part. 
She  shaded  her  eyes,  and  strove,  with  her 
gaze,  to  pierce  the  darkness  of  the  murky 
and  tempestuous  night  beyoud,  but  in  vain. 
Only  the  rain  dashing  against  the  window- 
panes,  only  the  blast  that  seemed  as  if  it 
might  lift  the  roof  from  off  the  cottage,  told 
her  what  was  raging  without.  She  looked 
round  at  him  in  blank  dismay. 

"  Is  there  no  hope,  then  ?  "  she  said.  "  0 
Mr.  Tyrrell,  must  I  stay  here  all  night  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  you  must,"  he  answered, 
gravely,  closing  the  blind  again.  "At  least  I 
know  that  if  you  and  I  ventured  out  in  this 
storm,  we  should  not  be  likely  ever  to  be 
beard  of  again.  Forgive  me  for  bringing  you 
here,"  he  went  on,  as  he  saw  the  distress  on 
her  face.  "I  could  not  think  of  any  thing 
else  to  do.  It  was  very  stupid,  very  thought- 
less, of  me  not  to  remember — " 

But  she  interrupted  him  here  by  holding 
out  her  hand. 


"  Forgive  mc  for  seeming  ungrateful  for 
such  a  kind  shelter,"  she  said.  "  You  know, 
or  you  ought  to  know,  that  you  did  the  best 
possible  thing  for  me — the  only  thing,  indeed. 
Of  course  it  is  awkward" — laughing  slightly 
— "  but  you  and  I  are  old  enough  and  sensi- 
ble enough  to  disregard  that.  If  I  was  only 
sure  that  Hugh  was  not  wretched  about  me  !  " 

"  May  he  not  think  that,  being  caught  by 
the  storm,  you  remained  in  town  ?  " 

"  It  is  likely  that  he  may.  I  have  some 
friends  with  whom  I  often  do  remain.  Thank 
you  for  the  suggestion,  Mr.  Tyrrell.  Now, 
shall  we  make  our  arrangements  for  the 
night  ?  I  am  so  sorry  to  think  how  much  I 
shall  inconvenience  you." 

"  Do  not  grudge  me  this  little  service," 
he  said.  "  God  knows,  and  you  know,  that 
it  may  be  the  last  I  shall  ever  have  the  op- 
portunity to  render  you  !  " 

There  was  some  difficulty  about  the  ar- 
rangements for  the  night,  since  the  choice 
rested  between  the  bed — which  was,  in  truth, 
little  more  than  a  sofa — and  the  easy-chair. 
Each  of  them  wanted  to  sit  up  and  let  the 
other  rest ;  but,  of  course,  Tyrrell  carried  his 
point ;  and  while  Margaret  lay  down,  and,  de- 
spite the  novelty  of  her  position,  soon  fell  into 
the  sound  sleep  of  healthy  youth,  he  sat  by 
the  fire  and  watclied  the  stormy  night  through 
and  the  gray  dawn  break  over  the  drenched 
earth. 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  Margaret  woke  the  next  morning, 
she  found  herself  alone  in  the  room — a  bright 
fire  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  a  cloudy^-apol- 
ogy  for  daylight  streaming  in.  It  required 
several  minutes  for  her  to  remember  where 
she  was ;  but  then  it  all  came  back  with  a 
rush,  and,  rising,  she  walked  across  the  floor, 
and  drew  back  the  blind  of  the  window.  It 
had  ceased  to  rain ;  but  the  terrible  ravages 
of  the  storm  were  evident  on  every  side,  and 
she  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  waters 
of  the  deluge,  abating  from  the  face  of  the 
earth,  may  have  presented  much  such  a 
seeming  as  the  scene  on  which  she  gazed. 
As  she  still  looked,  she  saw  Tyrrell  striding 
along  through  mud  and  water  toward  the 
house ;  and,  turning  when  he  entered,  she 
asked  at  once  where  he  had  been. 

"  To  find  some  means  of  getting  you  home," 


52 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


he  answered.  "  It  was  rather  difficult,  for 
the  raiu  last  night  seems  to  have  inundated 
the  brains  of  all  Kidgeford,  and  vehicles  are 
in  great  demand  for  the  people  escaping  from 
the  neighborhood  of  the  flood,  A  carriage 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  however." 

He  looked  so  pale  and  haggard,  as  the 
raorning  light  streamed  over  his  f;ice,  that 
she  was  suddenly  stricken  with  remorse  to 
think  how  he  had  been  working  for  her 
while  she  slept. 

"  How  has  the  rain  of  last  night  affected 
you,  Mr.  Tyrrell  ?  "  she  asked. 

"It  has  made  something  very  like  a  ruhied 
man  of  me,"  he  answered.  "  But  I  think  very 
little — too  little,  perhaps — of  that.  I  have 
only  myself  to  care  for,  you  know ;  and,  when 
one  stands  alone,  no  blew  of  Fortune  can  be 
very  severe." 

Margaret  was  not  by  any  means  sure  of 
this,  but  she  did  not  contradict  him.  She 
only  glanced  up  with  a  smile,  and  said  : 

"  Shall  I  not  make  you  some  tea  ?  You 
look  so  tired." 

His  face  brightened  as  by  a  flash.  "Yes," 
he  said,  eagerly,  "  Yes,  if  you  will  be  so 
kind." 

So  she  set  to  work  in  her  cheery  way — a 
way  that  had  brightened  her  own  home  like 
a  sunbeam  for  twenty-two  years — and  soon 
had  the  tea  ready — such  tea  as  Mr.  Tyrrell 
was  not  in  the  habit,  nor,  indeed,  capable,  of 
making  for  himself.  He  took  it  from  her 
hand  as  if  it  had  been  the  veritable  nectar 
of  the  gods ;  and,  in  truth,  the  poor  fellow 
needed  it  badly.  He  had  taken  a  more  pow- 
erful stimulant  at  an  earlier  hour,  but,  to  re- 
vive jaded  energies  and  tired  faculties,  there 
is  no  power  in  brandy  to  equal  that  which 
lurks  in  one  strong  cup  drawn  from  the  fra- 
grant Chinese  herb. 

Before  they  had  finished  their  impromptu 
collation — for  Margaret  sat  down  to  bear  him 
company,  not  so  much  because  she  wanted 
any  thing,  as  because  she  knew  by  instinct 
that  the  sight  of  her  was  pleasant  to  his  eyes 
— the  carriage,  which  had  been  ordered,  drove 
up  to  the  door.  Miss  Churchill  rose  and  put 
on  her  water-proof,  drawing  the  hood  over 
her  hatless  head,  and  then,  since  this  com- 
pleted her  preparations  for  departure,  turned 
to  Tyrrell. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  for  all  your  kind- 
ness ? "  she  said  to  him,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  What  would  have  become  of  me  if  you  had 


not  found  and  sheltered  me  ?  Believe  me,  I 
shall  never  forget  it.  It " — she  hesitated  a 
moment,  then  went  on,  with  a  crimson  cheek 
— "  it  has,  if  possible,  made  me  regret  still 
more  deeply  the  manner  in  which  you  were 
received  when  you  came  on  your  errand  of 
kindness  to  our  house  a  month  ago." 

"  You  should  know  better  than  to  talk 
like  this,"  he  said,  reproachfully.  "Kind- 
ness— kindness  to  you !  It  has  been  the 
greatest  happiness  that  Fate  ever  gave  to  me, 
and  one  on  the  memory  of  which  I  shall  live 
for  months  and  years  to  come."  He  had 
taken,  by  this  time,  the  small,  ungloved  hand 
which  she  offered  him,  and,  holding  it  now, 
gazed  with  passionate  wistfulness  into  her 
face.  "  Margaret,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "  for 
the  last  time,  the  very  last  time,  let  me  ask 
is  there,  can  there  be,  no  hope  for  me  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  he  read  his  answer 
in  her  sorrowful  eyes.     Then,  after  a  minute : 

"  Why  do  you  embitter  our  parting  like 
this  ?  "  she  asked,  sadly,  "  You  know  we 
are  not  likely  ever  to  meet  again.  Why  not 
let  us  say  farewell  as  friends — or,  if  not  as 
friends,  at  least  as  acquaintances  who  have 
met  and  liked  each  other  sincerely  ?  " 

"  Then  we  are  not  even  friends  ?  " 

"  How  can  we  be  ?  "  she  asked,  still  sadly, 
"Do  friends  live  as  far  apart  as  we  must  ever 
do  ?  0  Mr,  Tyrrell ! " — her  voice  broke  down 
here  into  something  like  a  wail — "  let  me  go. 
For  God's  sake  do  not  prolong  this  hopeless 
pain!  " 

"  Pain  !  Is  it  pain  to  you  ?  "  he  cried, 
quick  to  catch  the  new  accent  in  her  voice, 
"  0  Margaret !  one  word — only  one  word — 
before  you  go.  If  we  had  met  like  other 
people — if  this  horrible  barrier  of  past  crime 
had  not  been  between  us — could  you,  oh,  my 
darling! — could  you  ever  have  learned  to 
love  me  ?  If  you  can  tell  me  that,  Margaret, 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  face  even  the  deso- 
late future  with  a  brave  heart  if  I  know 
that." 

But  she  did  not  answer  him.  Her  pale 
lips  did  not  move;  her  downcast  eyes  did  not 
lift ;  she  only  suddenly  drew  her  hand  from 
the  clasp  of  his,  and  darted  toward  the 
door. 

He  followed,  and  assisted  her  into  the  car- 
riage ;  then,  to  her  surprise,  entered  also,  and 
closed  the  door. 

"  Are  you  coming  with  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  do  not  object,"  he  answered,  "  I 


HUGH'S  TEXDETTA. 


will  certainl.v  assure  myself  that  you  reach 
home  safely." 

She  cWuld  not  demur  at  this,  but  she 
winged  a  fervent  prayer  to  Heaven  that  Hugh 
might  be  safely  gone  to  his  morning  work.  If 
he  should  still  chance  to  be  at  home,  what 
would  he  say,  what  would  he  think,  to  see  her 
drive  up  with  Roland  Tyrrell !  Of  course  she 
meant  to  tell  him  where  and  how  she  had 
spent  the  night ;  but,  all  the  same,  it  must 
be  done  with  caution,  not  with  such  abrupt 
force. 

She  might  have  spared  her  fears,  however, 
for  Roland  Tyrrell  was  never  a  dull  man,  nor 
one  likely  to  fall  into  such  a  blunder  as  this. 
"U'hen  they  were  once  safely  in  a  street 
which  led  straight  to  the  Churchill  cottage, 
he  stopped  the  carriage  and  got  out. 

"  I  will  bid  you  good-by  here,"  he  said  to 
Margaret,  and  extended  his  hand. 

She  placed  her  own  within  it,  but  what 
she  said  she  did  not  know ;  she  could  not  af- 
terward remember,  though  she  vainly  tried  to 
think  that  it  had  been  something  kind.  It 
was  much  more  likely  to  have  been  something 
wholly  commonplace  and  unmeaning,  for  what 
else  do  any  of  us  ever  say  at  those  decisive 
moments  of  meeting  and  parting  which  stamp 
themselves  for  good  or  ill  upon  the  heart  ? 
Then  she  drove  on,  and  left  him  standing 
alone. 

It  has  been  already  said  that  the  neigh- 
borhood in  which  the  Churchills  lived  was 
principally  inhabited  by  the  class  who  found 
employment  in  the  large  mines  and  their  ad- 
jacent works,  not  far  distant.  This  part  of 
the  town  had  not  suffered  in  the  least  from 
that  destructive  flood  which  had  almost  swept 
away  the  lower  portion ;  yet,  as  Margaret 
drove  toward  the  cottage,  she  could  not  but 
observe  signs  of  an  unusual  commotion  in 
the  streets  and  about  the  doors  of  houses. 
Knots  of  people  were  gathered,  talking  ex- 
citedly ;  women  ran  past  with  terror  and  dis- 
may  on  their  faces ;  even  the  children  looked 
wild  and  horror-stricken. 

"  What  can  possibly  have  occurred  !  " 
thought  Miss  Churchill ;  and  she  was  not 
sorry  that,  as  she  stopped  the  carriage  at  her 
own  gate,  a  man  whom  she  knew  well  as  con- 
nected with  the  mines  came  hurrying  past. 

"One  minute,  Mr.  Waylandl"  she  cried, 
for  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  her.  "  Pray 
tell  me  what  is  the  matter  ?  Something  has 
happened,  surely  ?  " 


"  Xothing  much  is  the  matter.  Miss 
Churchill,"  he  said,  turning  round  with  a  face 
which  belied  his  words.  "  Only  there's  been 
an  accident  at  the  mines.  It's  all  come  right, 
I  dare  say.     You — you  better  go  in  ! " 

He  hurried  on,  but  Margaret  stood  still, 
panic-stricken.  She  knew  well  what  those 
fatal  words,  "  accident  at  the  mines,"  meant. 
She  had  not  lived  for  years  at  the  very  verge 
without  knowing  far  more  than  the  outer 
world  of  the  perils  which  beset  the  workers 
in  earth's  mysterious  depths.  It  never  oc- 
curred to  her  for  a  moment  that  Hugh  might 
be  connected  with  the  accident,  but  yet  her 
heart  stood  still  at  thought  of  the  horrible 
possibilities  of  suffering  so  near  her.  She 
realized  the  agony  with  which  every  woman 
argund  her  was  asking,  "Is  it  my  husband,  or 
my  son  ?  "  She  even  realized — or  thought 
she  did — the  awful  despair  of  those  who  were 
buried  alive  far  beneath  the  green  surface  of 
the  world.  "  God  help  them  ! "  she  said  to 
herself;  and  then,  as  she  was  turning  to  enter 
the  gate,  she  heard  two  men  speaking  as  they 
passed  at  a  rapid  pace. 

"  I  thought  as  much  ! "  one  of  them  said. 
"  It's  all  Churchill's  fault.  He  insisted  on 
pressing  the  work  in  that  direction — and  it 
was  only  yesterday  he  volunteered  to  direct 
the  men  himself.  He  was  a  headstrong  fel- 
low ;  but  one  can't  help  being  sorry  for  him, 
and  this  will  come  hard  on  his  sister ! " 

It  did  come  hard  on  her,  harder  even  than 
the  speaker  thought,  from  its  horrible  unex- 
pectedness. She  reeled  back  and  caught  the 
low  fence,  white  as  a  sheet,  and  trembling 
like  an  aspen.  "For  a  moment  she  tried  to 
smile — it  was  such  utter  folly  !  Hugh !  How 
could  Hugh  possibly  be  in  danger?  Then 
that  awful  sickness  of  the  heart — like  unto 
no  other  sickness  of  earth — came  over  her, 
and  she  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground  if  an 
arm  had  not  supported  her.  It  was  only  the 
rough,  fustian-clad  arm  of  the  coachman  who 
had  not  yet  driven  off;  but,  for  all  that,  it 
was  very  serviceable,  and  very  kindly,  too. 

"Hold  up  a  bit,  miss,"  he  said,  "and  I'll 
call  somebody  to  you.  I  reckon  you've  been 
taken  sick-like." 

"  Xo,"  said  Margaret,  putting  up  her  hand 
to  her  ghastly  face,  "I  am  not  sick.  Stop," 
she  said,  catching  his  arm  as  he  was  turning 
away,  "  don't  call  anybody,  I  have  no  time  to 
talk.  Open  the  carriage-door  and  let  me  in. 
Then  drive  as  fast  as  vou  can  to  the  mines." 


54 


HUGH'S   YENDETTA. 


He  stared  at  her ;  but  she  beckoned  him 
so  impatiently  to  obey,  that,  after  a  second's 
hesitation,  ho  did  so— guessing,  in  part,  at 
least,  the  cause  of  her  anxiety.  Perhaps  he 
was  not  averse  to  sharing  in  the  excitement 
himself.  At  all  events,  he  whipped  up  his 
horses  with  laudable  zeal,  and,  in  a  very  few 
mi^iiutes,  they  reached  the  mines. 

Driving  past  the  large  works,  where  the 
sound  of  machinery  had,  for  the  present, 
stopped,  and  past  the  deserted  offices  (of 
which  Hugh's  was  one),  they  came  to  the 
opening  of  the  principal  descent  into  the 
mine.  It  was  not  here,  however,  that  a  sig- 
nificant and  terrible  scene  was  enacting. 
Farther  away,  to  the  right,  a  new  shaft  had 
been  lately  sunk,  and  entirely  new  excava- 
tions made — concerning  which,  as  Margaret 
well  remembered,  Hugh  had  been  full  of  eager 
interest  and  hope.  Several  older  engineers 
had  opposed  the  move;  but  he  had  carried 
every  thing  before  him  with  the  company,  and 
already  the  most  favorable  results  had  been 
anticipated.  ««He  had  brought  home  trium- 
phantly several  rich  specimens  of  ore,  and 
spoken  gayly  of  the  chagrin  of  those  who  had 
prophesied  utter  failure  for  the  project.  Now 
— was  this  to  be  the  end  ? 

It  certainly  looked  so.  Around  the  fatal 
spot  was  gathered  a  crowd  of  many  men  and 
not  a  few  women ;  the  former  looking  as  men 
only  look  in  the  face  of  some  terrible  tragedy; 
the  latter,  for  the  most  part,  wailing  loudly, 
or  sobbing  dry  sobs  with  that  restraint  of 
grief  which  is  more  terrible  to  behold  than  its 
wildest  abandonment.  Margaret  alighted  here, 
and  made  her  way  through  the  throng  to 
where  the  superintendent  was  standing,  just 
at  the  mouth  of  the  opening. 

"  Mr.  Beresford,"  she  said,  touching  his 
arm,  "  is  it  true  that  Hugh  is  in  there  ?  " 

"  Good  Heavens,  Miss  Churchill ! "  said  Mr. 
Beresford,  turning  round  with  a  start.  "  Is  it 
possible  you  are  here  ?  My  dear  young  lady, 
this  will  never  do.     Come  away  instantly  ! " 

"  Is  Hugh  there  ?  "  she  reiterated,  looking 
at  him  with  her  pale,  set  face.  "  Tell  me  the 
truth  at  once.     I  must  know." 

"  Well,  then — yes,  he  is  there ! "  he  said, 
desperately.  "  Now,  for  God's  sake,  come 
away !     This  is  no  place  for  you ! " 

She  paid  no  heed  to  his  adjuration.  She 
only  caught  his  arm,  and  asked  another  ques- 
tion through  her  white  lips. 

"  Is  there  any  hope  ?  " 


"We  trust  so,"  he  said,  eagerly.  "We 
never  give  up  hope  until  we  know  the  worst. 
We  only  fear  it  now.  You  see,  it  has  not 
been  an  hour  since  the  wall  fell — not  in  the 
path ;  but,  as  well  as  we  can  judge,  in  the 
rear  of  the  mining  party — and  we  have  had  a 
large  force  at  work  ever  since.  Listen,  and 
you  can  hear  the  ring  of  the  pickaxes  !" 

She  listened  with  a  sickening  heart ;  and, 
though  her  ears  were  not  trained  like  his,  she 
thought  she  could  faintly  catch  a  dull  and 
muffled  sound,  which  told  of  the  vigorous 
strokes  of  many  arms.  Once  more  she  heard 
him  urging  her  to  come  away,  but  she  only 
shook  her  head.  No  earthly  power  could 
have  forced  her  from  the  spot  where  Hugh 
was  buried — alive,  and  yet  dead !  There  are 
some  things  so  horrible  that  the  imagination 
refuses  to  grasp  them.  This  was  one  of  them 
to  Margaret.  Though  she  sat  (for  her  trem- 
bling limbs  refused  to  support  her,  and  Mr. 
Beresford  placed  her  on  a  stone  not  far  away), 
like  a  pale  image  of  despair,  breathing  the 
free  air  of  heaven  while  lie  was  shut  from  it 
in  the  black  depths  of  earth,  she  could  not 
realize  the  awful  horror  pressing  on  her. 
They  came,  and  went,  and  talked,  around 
her,  as  men  do  under  stress  of  great  excite- 
ment ;  but  she  did  not  heed  them.  She  was 
trying  to  wrest  her  mind  from  the  upper  world 
and  take  it  into  his  dark  prison;  but  it  would 
not  go.  It  reeled  on  the  very  brink  of  uncon- 
sciousness when  she  tried  to  picture  him 
gasping,  dying — so  near  her,  yet,  0  Heaven ! 
so  far  away. 

She  felt  as  if  it  had  been  hours  that  she 
had  sat  there,  frozen  into  a  stony  stillness  by 
the  very  magnitude  of  her  anguish,  yet  keenly 
alive  to  every  sound  that  bore  relation  to  him, 
when  a  faint  cheer  from  the  men  below  (that 
is,  a  cheer  which  sounded  faint  to  those  above) 
announced  that  they  had  reached  the  victims 
of  the  accident.  In  a  second,  Margaret  sprang 
to  her  feet ;  but  in  a  second,  also,  a  strong 
hand  held  her  back. 

"  Wait ! "  said  a  familiar  voice.  "  Not 
yet ! " 

She  turned,  not  in  surprise — at  such  pio- 
ments  people  are  rarely  surprised  »t  any 
thing — but  with  a  sense  of  blind  trust  strange 
indeed  in  a  woman  usually  so  self-reliant  as 
Margaret  Churchill.  Looking  up  into  the 
dark  eyes  bent  upon  her — eyes  full  of  pas- 
sionate pity  and  passionate  love — her  agony 
for  the  first  time  broke  forth  into  words. 


HUGH'S  YEXDETTA. 


55 


"Do  you  go,  then!"  she  said.  "I  can 
trust  you  to  tell  me  if  Hugh  is — "  Her 
white  lips  could  not  utter  the  word  "  dead." 
It  seemed  such  an  awful  and  such  an  unreal 
word  to  connect  with  Hugh's  proud  life  and 
strength.  "  Then  you  will  save  him  if  you 
can  ? "  she  went  on,  with  trembling  eager- 
ness. "  0  Mr.  Tyrrell !  you  are  so  brave  and 
kind — will  you  not  try  to  save  him  ?  Surely 
you  are  better  able  than  they — those  men 
yonder  ;  surely  you  can  if  you  will ! '' 

"  God  knows  how  willingly  I  would  if  I 
could,"  Tyrrell  said.  "But  those  men  yon- 
der understand  such  matters,  and  they  have 
done  all  that  human  effort  can  do." 

"  But  you  are  wiser  than  they,"  she  per- 
sisted, feverishly.  "  You  think  I  am  childish 
to  talk  like  this,  but  I  feel — I  know — that 
God  has  sent  you  to  help  aud  to  save  him. 
Am  I  mad  ?  I  don't  know.  But  say  you 
will  try — oh,  say  you  will  try  ! " 

"  I  will  try,"  he  answered,  carried  away 
by  her  appeal,  yet  knowing  that  there  was 
nothing  for  him  to  do.  "I  swear  to  you 
that,  if  an  opportunity  arises,  I  will  hold  my 
own  life  for  nothing  in  comparison  with  his. 
But  will  vou  promise  me  to  stay  here  if  I 
go?" 

"I  promise,"  she  said,  and  she  sat  down 
again  on  the  seat  from  which  she  had  risen. 

When  Margaret  Churchill  said  "I  prom- 
ise," he  must  have  been  blind  and  deaf  in- 
deed who  did  not  trust  her — even  at  such  a 
supreme  moment  as  this.  Tyrrell  did,  fully 
and  entirely.  He  gave  one  glance  at  her  face 
— rigid  with  an  awful  look  of  despair — then 
went  his  way  without  another  word. 

They  were  bringing  out  the  victims  one 
by  one  when  he  reached  tlie  opening  of  the 
shaft.  A  terrible  sight  it  was — with  the 
fearful  wail  of  some  women  rising  now  and 
then  as  a  husband  or  a  son  was  recognized. 
Most  of  them  were  dead.  A  few,  who  had 
been  farther  advanced  in  front,  had  escaped 
the  heavy  fall  of  the  ill-supported  earth,  and 
still  showed  signs  of  life.  Half  hoping,  yet 
half  apprehensive,  Tyrrell  looked  over  the 
unconscious  faces,  but  Hugh  was  not  there. 
As  he  looked,  Mr.  Beresford  approached. 

"  Xo  sign  of  Churchill  yet,"  he  said.  "  He 
must  certainly  have  been  one  of  the  farthest 
in  the  mine." 

"  That  gives  hopes  for  his  safety,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  In  a  measure,"  the  other  answered,  "  but 


only  In  a  measure.  You  see  we  got  them  out 
very  quickly,  and  those  men  who  were  not 
immediately  suffocated,  may  very  likely  re- 
cover. But  every  minute  counts,  and,  the 
longer  they  are  in  finding  Churchill,  the  less 
hope  there  is  that  he  will  be  found  alive." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Tyrrell,  thoughtfully. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added :  "  Can  I  go 
into  the  mine?  I  should  like  to  see  what 
progress  they  are  making,  unless  you  object 
to  the  intrusion  of  outsiders." 

"  I  do  object,  as  a  general  rule,"  the  su- 
perintendent answered.  "There  are  plenty 
of  people  here  who  would  like  nothing  better 
than  to  go  down  there  and  stare,  if  they  were 
allowed  to  do  so;  but,  of  course,  with  you, 
Mr.  Tyrrell,  it  is  a  different  matter.  I'll  send 
a  man  down  with  you  if  you  wish  to  go." 

Tyrrell  reiterating  his  desire,  the  man  was 
summoned,  and  they  proceeded  together  into 
the  mine.  It  was  a  strange,  wild  scene,  and 
thoroughly  novel  to  the  man  of  the  upper 
world,  upon  which  they  entered.  Tl)e  dark 
galleries  opening  away  in  different  directions, 
with  here  and  there  the  light  of  a  miner's 
candle  gleaming,  the  subterranean  atmos- 
phere, the  smell  of  fresh  earth  from  the 
fallen  wall,  the  force  of  men  working  with 
shovels  and  pickaxes  by  the  light  of  lanterns 
and  torches.  As  Tyrrell  came  up,  an  inani- 
mate figure  was  drawn  forth  aud  carried  past 
him  to  the  upper  air.  "  Jackson,"  he  heard 
the  men  saying  to  each  other,  and  then  some- 
body added,  "Stone  dead  ! " 

"You  see  they  are  still  taking  out  the 
men  on  whom  the  earth  fell,"  his  guide  said. 
"  There's  something  like  half  a  dozen  missing 
yet.  If  you  are  not  afraid  to  come  through 
this  way,  you'll  find  the  place  where  they  are 
looking  for  Mr.  Churchill." 

Fear  did  not  chance  to  be  a  word  in  Ro- 
land Tyrrell's  vocabulary,  so  he  followed  the 
speaker,  through  an  opening  in  the  fallen 
earth,  to  where  the  advance  portion  of  the 
mining  party  had  been  found.  It  was  very 
near  the  end  of  the  excavation,  and  men 
were  working  here  eagerly,  expecting  every 
moment  to  find  Hugh  Churchill  as  they  had 
found  the  others. 

"  He'll  never  come  out  alive,"  Tyrrell's 
guide  said,  gloomily.  "Not  but  that — steady 
boys  !  what  are  you  after  now  ?  " 

Tliey  were  after  another  inanimate  figure, 
upon  which  they  had  stumbled,  and  which 
they  were  almost  sure  would  prove  the  one 


56 


HUGH'S   VENDETTA. 


so  anxiously  sought.  "  IIolcl  up,  there  !  " 
they  cried  to  the  men  who  were  working  with 
pickaxes  in  front  (foolishly  enough,  since  the 
end  of  the  excavation  had  plainly  been 
reached) ;  but  these  did  not  seem  to  hear, 
for,  just  as  the  others  were  lifting  up  the  un- 
conscious face  for  identification,  their  axes 
went  suddenly  through  into  another  and  un- 
suspected excavation  beyond — there  was  a 
quick  rattle  of  falling  earth — a  crust-like  wall 
gave  way  —  and  a  blast  of  air  rushed  out 
which  proved  its  noxious  qualities  by  extin- 
guishing in  an  instant  every  one  of  the  lights. 

The  panic  which  ensued  was  neither  so 
unwise  nor  so  unnatural  as  might  at  first  ap- 
pear. If  the  men  threw  down  pickaxes  and 
shovels  to  fly  for  their  lives,  it  was  because 
they  knew  well  that  their  lives  were  at  stake 
— since,  of  all  dangers  which  the  miner  has  to 
dread,  the  most  deadly  by  far  is  the  subtile 
poison  known  as  mephitic  air.  Tyrrell's  guide 
had  sufficient  consideration  to  seize  him  by 
the  arm,  and  hurry  him  away  at  such  a  breath- 
less pace  that  he  scarcely  knew  what  had 
happened  until  he  found  himself  beyond  the 
point  where  the  first  earth  had  fallen. 

Even  here  the  panic  had  spread,  and  the 
men  were  retreating.  "  All's  up  now,"  they 
said.  "  No  hope  for  any  man  left  in  there 
when  that  gets  at  him.  The  devil  himself 
couldn't  live  in  foul  air  !  " 

"Where  is  Mr.  Churchill?"  demanded 
Tyrrell,  as  soon  as  he  could  be  heard.  Then, 
as  an  ominous  silence  followed  the  question  : 
"  For  God's  sake,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  are  men,  and  that  you  have  left  a  man 
who  could  not  help  himself,  to  perish  in 
there  ?     Is  it  possible — has  it  been  done  ?  " 

It  had  indeed  been  done.  No  one  had 
thought  of  him.  Each  man  had  blindly 
rushed  from  the  danger,  and  left  the  uncon- 
scious one  behind. 

"  He  is  dead,"  some  of  them  said,  by  way 
of  excuse. 

"  No  man  knows  that,"  Tyrrell  answered. 
"  No  man  can  dare  to  say  that  he  felt  either 
his  heart  or  his  pulse.  The  presumption  is 
that  he  is  alive — and  I  call  upon  you  as  brave 
men  to  go  back  with  me  for  him." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Brave  enough 
they  were,  the  most  of  them  ;  but  not  so 
brave  as  this.  They  had  faced  danger  from 
the  falling  earth,  but  they  could  not  face  cer- 
tain death  from  mephitic  air.  Nobody  stirred. 
Most  of  them  were  silent ;  only  one  or  two 


murmured  that  there  had  been  deaths  enough, 
and  that  they  had  their  families  to  consider. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Tyrrell,  scornfully,  "  I 
will  go  alone.  Give  me  a  lantern — something 
that  cannot  be  extinguished  easily  ;  and  I 
will  show  you  whether  or  not  you  are  a  set  of 
pitiful  cowards.  Only  " — he  stopped  a  mo- 
ment and  considered — "  I  am  afraid  I  could 
scarcely  bring  him  out  alone.  Is  there  any 
one  here  who  can  be  bribed  to  do  his  duty 
by  a  thousand  dollars  ?  If  so,  let  him  speak 
at  once.  There  is  not  a  second  to  lose,  and  I 
will  write  a  check  before  I  go." 

His  taunt  stung  one  man  at  least  into  ac- 
tion. A  stout,  dark -browed  young  fellow 
stepped  forward. 

"  You  may  keep  your  money,  Mr.  Tyrrell," 
he  said.  "i'^Zgowith  you  without  a  bribe. 
It's  like  to  be  certain  death  ;  but  I've  nobody 
depending  on  me,  so  it  don't  matter  much, 
nohow." 

"  All  right,"  said  Tyrrell,  with  a  quick 
glance  at  him.  "  You'll  do,"  he  added.  "  Get 
the  light  we  are  to  take — the  quicker  the  bet- 
ter." 

A  couple  of  lanterns  were  brought,  and  a 
bucket  of  water  for  each  of  them,  with  which 
to  dispel  in  a  measure  the  poisonous  gas. 
While  these  were  being  provided,  Tyrrell 
heard  an  old  miner  explain  the  presence  of 
the  foul  air.  The  mine  was  an  old  one,  with 
several  long-disused  chambers — excavations 
which  had  been  cut  off  by  much  such  an  ac- 
cident (though  in  the  former  case  harmless) 
as  the  present ;  and  it  was  evidently  into  one 
of  these  that  the  new  excavation  led.  No- 
body had  suspected  it  until  the  unguarded 
strokes  of  two  or  three  men  had  laid  bare  the 
danger. 

It  certainly  was  a  terrible  danger  into 
which  Tyrrell  and  his  companion  now  ven- 
tured. They  felt  it  in  the  faintness  which 
made  them  stagger  and  reel  like  drunken 
men  when  the  first  breath  of  the  mephitic  at- 
mosphere came  over  them  ;  and,  as  they  ad- 
vanced, it  of  course  grew  worse. 

"  We  must  be  quick,"  said  the  young 
miner,  in  a  half-stifled  voice ;  "  we  can't 
stand  this  many  minutes  !  "  He  set'down  his 
lantern  hastily,  and,  raising  his  bucket  of 
water  with  both  hands  to  a  level  with  his 
shoulder,  cast  the  contents  in  showery  dashes 
all  around  and  over  himself  and  his  compan- 
ion ;  then,  dropping  the  bucket,  snatched  up 
the  light  and  hurried  forward.     Fortunately 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


57 


they  had  but  a  few  steps  to  go  from  the  en- 
trance of  the  excavation  to  where  Churchill 
was  lying,  face  downward,  just  as  he  had 
been  left  by  the  men  when  they  fled  for  their 
liveii. 

"  Thank  God— hero  he  is  I  "  cried  Tyr- 
rell. 

"  Put  down  your  light !  "  exclaimed  the 
miner,  who  had  already  put  his  own  out  of 
his  hand,  and,  with  one  vigorous  eflbrt,  had 
turned  Hugh  upon  his  back.  "  Dash  your 
water  over  his  face — now  for  it ! "  and  he 
seized  Hugh's  shoulders,  motioning  to  Tyr- 
rell to  assist.  Gasping,  giddy,  and  so  faint 
that  they  could  scarcely  stand,  they  half  car- 
ried, half  dragged  him  along  between  them 
to  the  opening  of  the  excavation.  The  gases 
had  by  this  time  been  considerably  diluted 
by  the  outside  air  finding  its  way  in ;  but 
still  the  atmosphere  was  horrible.  The  lights 
burned  dimly,  and  both  Tyrrell  and  his  com- 
panion felt  their  strength  and  consciousness 
fast  leaving  them.  As  at  last  they  reached 
the  bound  of  safety — the  opening  in  the  fall- 
en wall — Tyrrell  staggered,  wavered,  and  fell 
heavily  forward. 

"  On — on  !  "  he  gasped,  as  his  companion 
paused.  "  Don't  stop  for  me — come  back,  if 
you  will — but  keep  on  now — on  !  " 

His  strength  had  collapsed,  but  not  so  his 
power  of  command.  There  was  something 
compelling  to  obedience  in  the  imperious 
tones ;  and,  admonished  partly  by  them, 
partly  by  his  own  increasing  faiutness,  the 
young  miner  kept  on. 

It  was  lucky  for  Hugh  Churchill  that  he 
did  so.  Scarcely  had  he  passed  the  opening 
when  there  came  another  heavy  fall  of  earth, 
closing  it  behind  him. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Roland  Tvrrkll's  last  sight  —  the  last, 
he  fancied,  that  he  should  ever  have  of 
V  worldly  things — was  of  that  falling  barrier 
which  shut  him,  in  poisonous  darkness,  from 
the  sights  and  sounds  of  men.  After  that,  he 
knew  nothing  more. 

He  knew  nothing  of  the  sensation  which 
the  news  of  his  entombment  made,  nor  how 
Mr.  Beresford  himself  rushed  down  into  the 
mine,  nor  how  yolunteers  flocked  to  the  work 
of  his  rescue,  nor  yet  how  zealously  the  men 


labored  to  save  him  who  had  only  a  little 
before  denounced  them  as  cowards. 

But  when  Margaret  Churchill,  who  was 
kneeling  by  her  unconscious  yet  living  broth- 
er,  heard  the  news,  she  uttered  a  cry  which 
those  around  her  never  forgot. 

"It  is  my  fault!"  she  cried.  "It  is  my 
fault!  /urged  him  to. go  !  I  begged  him  to 
save  Hugh  !  But  I  never  feared  this — I  never 
thought  that  he  would  give  his  own  life — 0 
my  God  !  what  have  I  done  ! " 

It  was  easier  to  ask  than  to  answer.  The 
men  below  worked  with  a  will  on  the  fallen 
earth,  which,  being  light,  gave  way  readily  to 
their  shovels  ;  but  not  one  of  them  dared  to 
hope  that  they  would  find  Tyrrell  alive.  They 
knew  too  well  the  terrible  power  of  the  agent 
at  work  within. 

"  I  don't  think  there's  more  than  a  shadow 
of  a  chance  for  the  poor  fellow,"  the  superin- 
tendent said.  "  But  we  can  only  do  for  him 
what  he  did  for  Churchill  —  give  him  the 
benefit  of  that. — So  work  away,  for  God's 
sake,  boys !  every  second  of  time  counts 
against  him." 

They  knew  that  as  well  as  the  speaker 
did,  and  scarcely  needed  to  be  urged  to  ex- 
pedition. They  worked  as  they  had  seldom, 
even  in  their  stalwart  lives  of  labor,  worked 
before.  Whetlier  it  was  merely  the  universal 
human  sympathy  for  human  suSeriug — which 
at  such  times  strikes  a  magnetic  chord  to 
make  men  brothers — or  whether  they  were 
moved  to  special  interest  by  the  courage  of 
the  gallant  gentleman  dying  within,  no  one 
could  tell.  Assuredly  they  could  not  have 
told  themselves.  People  accustomed  to 
analyzing  motives  do  not  pause  for  such  a 
process  at  moments  of  supreme  excitement. 
Still  less  are  those  who  have  never  done  such 
a  thing  likely  to  choose  such  a  time  to  begin. 
It  did  not  matter  what  sentiment  it  was,  when 
the  heart  sent  force  enough  into  those  sturdy 
arms  to  demolish  in  a  very  short  time — 
though  time  which  seemed  horribly  long  to 
the  passive  lookers-on — the  awful  tomb  of 
Nature's  fashioning.  Then  they  found  that 
he  was  lying  immediately  beyond  the  fallen 
earth,  and  that  the  two  lanterns  which  had 
been  left  were  still  burning,  though  very 
dimly. 

Drawn  forth  into  purer  air,  they  thought 
they  detected  signs  of  life  ;  but  no  one  could 
be  sure  of  this.  It  was  true  there  was  some 
ground  of  hope  in  the  fact  that  the  lights 


58 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


had  not  been  totally  extinguished,  and  that 
he  had  not  been  buried  much  more  than  fif- 
teen or  twenty  minutes  ;  but  no  man  was 
bold  enough  to  say,  "  He  will  live  ! "  nor  even 
"He  is  alive!" 

"  Get  him  up  into  the  hands  of  the  doctors 
as  quick  as  possible,"  Mr.  Beresford  said. 
"  Good  Heavens  !  what  a  piece  of  work  this 
has  been  ! " 

Up  from  the  under-world  into  the  light 
of  God's  blessed  sky  he  was  accordingly 
taken — a  far  more  deathly-seeming  man  than 
Hugh  Churchill  had  been,  or  even  than  those 
poor  victims  drawn  forth,  stone-dead,  from 
beneath  the  avalanche  of  fallen  earth.  Un- 
der the  influence  of  powerful  restoratives, 
Churchill  was  beginning  to  revive  a  little, 
and  to  comprehend,  in  a  measure,  where  he 
was  and  what  had  happened. 

"  Tyrrell ! "  he  repeated,  faintly,  as  he 
heard  the  name  passing  from  lip  to  lip 
around  him,  for  just  at  that  moment  Tyrrell 
was  brought  forth,  and  laid  down,  as  it 
chanced,  almost  exactly  at  the  feet  of  the 
brother  and  sister.  To  the  surprise  of  all 
present,  Margaret  Churchill  rose  at  once, 
and,  going  to  his  side,  knelt  down  by  him, 
gazing  into  the  pallid  face,  feeling  the  pulse- 
less hands. 

"  He  has  given  his  life  for  yours,  Hugh," 
she  said,  at  last,  looking  up  at  her  bewil- 
dered brother,  with  a  ghastly  smile  on  her 
quivering  lips.  "  I  think  you  may  be  satis- 
fied that  your  vendetta  is  ended  now." 

He  had,  indeed,  given  his  life  so  far  as 
the  will  to  do  so  went,  but  not  as  far  as  the 
actual  fact  was  concerned.  The  physicians, 
who  now  came  up,  told  Margaret  that  he  was 
still  alive.  "  He  has  wonderful  vital  force," 
they  said,  "  and  it  has  enabled  him  to  sur- 
vive an  ordeal  that  would  have  killed  a 
weaker  man.  But  he  is  not  out  of  danger 
yet.  He  may  never  recover  consciousness, 
or,  if  he  does,  an  attack  of  illness  may  prob- 
ably follow.  We  will  apply  all  possible  re- 
storatives, and  then  he  should  be  taken  away 
from  here  at  once.  Does  anybody  know 
where  his  lodgings  are  ?  The  Tyrrell  house 
was  rented  last  week." 

Margaret  knew  where  those  lodgings  were, 
but  she  held  her  peace  as  the  men  around 
shook  their  heads  and  disclaimed  any  knowl- 
edge of  Mr.  Tyrrell's  place  of  abode.  "  Never 
mind  about  that,"  she  said,  impatiently,  to 
the   doctor  who   had   spoken.      "  It  is  time 


enough  to  talk  of  where  you  will  take  him 
when  he  is  ready  to  be  taken  anywhere." 

This  was  true  enough.  The  process  of 
restoring  him,  therefore,  went  on  for  some 
time  at  the  mouth  of  the  fatal  shaft,  with 
men  and  women  of  all  kinds  looking  on — 
grief  and  death  present  in  their  most  awful 
forms  —  and  the  petty,  commonplace  world 
thrusting  itself  forward  now  and  then  in  the 
person  of  some  newspaper  reporter,  who, 
having  been  spared  from  work  on  the  flood 
to  chronicle  this  new  horror,  came  up  to 
question  the  miners,  the  officials,  the  doctors, 
the  half-restored  victims — anybody  and  every- 
body, without  regard  to  time  or  place. 

After  a  while,  the  physicians  seemed  to 
agree  that  Tyrrell  would  very  likely  recover. 
"He  will  not  come  to  himself  for  some  time 
yet,"  they  said  ;  "  but,  with  the  liberal 
aid  of  restoratives  and  stimulants,  he'll  do 
now." 

It  was  after  this  decision  that  Margaret, 
who  had,  meanwhile,  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  Hugh,  came  forward  and  spoke. 

"  Our  cottage  is  near  by,"  she  said  ; 
"  Mr.  Tyrrell  must  be  taken  there.  He 
risked  his  life  to  save  my  brother,  and  I 
should  never  forgive  myself  if  I  let  him 
pass  out  of  my  sight  until  he  is  again  re- 
stored to  health." 

She  announced  this  determination  with  so 
much  quiet  firmness  and  dignity  that  no  one 
gainsayed  her.  Indeed,  nobody  had  any  right 
to  do  so.  Roland  Tyrrell  had  no  relations, 
and  but  few  friends,  in  Ridgeford.  There 
was  no  one  to  oppose  a  rival  claim  for  the 
possession  of  this  weak,  unconscious  man, 
whose  only  sense  of  returning  life  was  a  ter- 
rible, giddy  sickness. 

He  did  not  know  where  they  were  taking 
him — in  fact,  he  didn't  care.  As  in  a  dream, 
he  was  aware  that  people  came  and  went 
about  him  ;  that  masculine  voices  talked  over 
him  ;  that  a  gentle  hand  now  and  then  touched 
him  with  the  magic  art  of  soothing  which  some 
women  possess ;  and  that,  finally,  he  lapsed 
into  a  sleep  too  deep  even  for  such  dreams  as 
these. 

"When  he  awoke,  he  felt  as  bewildered  as 
Margaret  had  been  on  Iter  awaking  under 
somewhat  similar  circumstances.  He  could 
not  remember  for  some  time  what  had  hap- 
pened, nor  why  he  felt  so  weak  and  faint. 
Even  when  he  mastered  his  recollection — up 
to  the  point  of  the  falling  earth  in  the  mine — 


HUGH'S  YEXDETTA. 


5D 


he  could  not  imagine  bow  he  hail  been  trans- 
ported from  that  prison,  dreary  and  hopeless 
as  Dante's  hell,  to  this  boudoir-like  chamber, 
with  its  dainty  furniture  and  picture-hung 
walls. 

At  last,  however,  he  gave  up  the  effort  of 
fatiguing  his  brain  with  conjectures,  and  de- 
cided to  wait  patiently  for  an  explanation  of 
the  mystery.  As  if  to  reward  his  philosophy, 
it  was  not  long  before  it  came.  The  handle 
of  the  door  turned  softly,  the  door  itself 
opened  cautiously,  and  he  heard  a  voice, 
which  he  would  have  recognized  among  ten 
thousand,  saying,  in  a  subdued  key  : 

"  Now  take  care  and  don't  make  a  noise, 
Hugh.  Go  in  very  gently  and  tell  me  if  he  is 
still  asleep." 

Hugh  !  Roland  Tyrrell's  dark  eyes  opened 
yet  wider  than  they  had  done  before  at  sound 
of  that  name,  and  it  was  those  eyes  which 
Churchill  first  encountered  when  he  entered 
the  room  with  elaborate  caution. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  he  said,  and  evinced  symp- 
toms of  beating  an  immediate  retreat. 

But  Tyrrell  frustrated  this  intention  by 
lifting  himself  a  little,  and  holding  out  the 
hand  which  he  had  once  declared  his  inten- 
tion of  never  offering  again  to  Hugh  Churchill. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again  alive 
and  well,"  he  said. 

The  words  were  not  very  much,  but  the 
tone  was  a  good  deal,  and  touched  Hugh  by 
its  evident  sincerity.  He  came  forward  and 
wrung  the  extended  hand  with  an  almost  pain- 
ful force. 

"  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  that  I  owe  it 
to  you  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  never  thought  to  owe 
any  thing — at  least  any  thing  7nore — to  one 
of  your  name,  Mr.  Tyrrell,  but,  despite  my 
will,  you  have  made  me  your  debtor  for  my 
life." 

This  did  not  sound  like  a  very  gracious 
acknowledgment,  but  perhaps  Roland  Tyrrell 
understood  it.     At  least  he  smiled  slightly. 

"  Don't  let  the  obligation  weigh  upon 
you,"  he  said.  "  Look  upon  it  not  as  a  debt 
incurred,  but  as  a  debt  paid.  I  hope  I  should 
have  done  the  same  for  anybody,  but  I  was 
especially  glad  to  do  it  for  you.  We  got  you 
out  just  in  time,"  he  went  on,  "  and  now  pray 
tell  me  how  they  got  me  out,  and  what  is  the 
matter  with  my  head  ?  It  surges  like  a  roll- 
ing sea  whenever  I  move." 

Hugh  having  satisfied  his  curiosity  on  these 
points,  and  told  him  much  that  he  himself 


only  knew  from  the  report  of  others,  Tyrrell 
next  inquired  where  he  was. 

"  It  can't  be,"  he  said,  remembering  the 
sound  of  Margaret's  voice,  "  tluit  I  am  in 
your  house." 

"  My  sister  thought  it  only  fair  that  she 
should  return  your  hospitality,"  Hugh  said, 
thinking  to  turn  off  the  matter  with  a  jest. 
"  Seriously,  you  did  not  think  that  we  were 
going  to  send  j'ou  to  a  hospital  or  a  boarding- 
house  when  you  had  just  risked — yes,  and  by 
Jove  !  came  within  an  inch  of  losing — your 
life  to  save  mine  ?"  he  added,  a  little  indig- 
nantly. 

"  I — upon  my  honor,  I  never  thought  of 
it  at  all,"  Tyrrell  answered.  "  My  head — con- 
found it ! — had  not  been  in  much  of  a  condi- 
tion for  thinking.  But  it  is  very  good,  very 
kind  of  you  to  have  me  here." 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  you,  /  should  not 
be  here,"  Hugh  said,  bluntly.  "  I  generally 
try  to  pay  my  debts — after  a  fashion,  at  least. 
Oh,  I  had  quite  forgotten  !  "  as  a  knock  at 
the  door  was  followed  by  the  entrance  of  a 
small  servant  and  a  breakfast-tray,  "  Mar- 
garet wants  to  know  if  you  will  be  well 
enough  to  come  down  after  you  have  had 
your  breakfast.  There's  a  couch  in  the  par- 
lor where  you  can  be  comfortable,  and  you'll 
find  it  dull  up  here,  for  I  must  go  over  to  the 
mines." 

''  Of  course  I  will  come  down,"  said  Tyr- 
rell. "  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  I  am  not 
sick." 

"  A  man  can't  inhale  mephitie  air  with 
impunity,"  Hugh  answered.  "  It  will  be  sev- 
eral days  before  you  are  all  right  again.  I 
had  a  turn  with  it  once,  but  not  like  this." 

Mr.  Tyrrell  found,  indeed,  that  a  man 
could  not  inhale  mephitie  air  with  impunity 
when  he  attempted  to  dress  at  a  later  hour 
of  the  morning,  and,  at  a  still  later  period,  to 
make  his  way  down-stairs,  tempted  beyond 
all  prudence  by  the  thought  of  that  couch  in 
the  parlor  where  Margaret  awaited  him. 

As  he  descended  slowly,  clutching  ner- 
vously at  the  balustrade,  and  feeling  so  ab- 
surd that  he  hoped  devoutly  no  servant  was 
in  ambush  to  spy  upon  his  erratic  motions,  a 
door  below  opened,  and  Miss  Churchill  her- 
self stepped  into  the  hall. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Tyrrell?"  she  said, 
turning  her  bright  face  upward.  "  Oh,  how 
thoughtless  I  am  to  forget  how  faint  and  gick 
you  must  feel ! " 


60 


HUGH'S  YEXDETTA. 


She  ran  up  to  meet  liim,  and  insisted  on 
hi3  leaning  on  her. 

"  I  should  have  kept  Hugh  for  this  ser- 
vice," she  said,  laughing.  "  He  would  have 
made  an  excellent  support,  but  I  serve  as  a 
crutch.  I  am  a  good  height  for  a  crutch,  am 
I  not?" 

"  You  are  good  for  every  thing,"  he  said, 
gratefully.  "  How  kind  it  was  of  you  to 
bring  me  here  !  " 

"  Why,  where  else  should  you  have 
gone?  "  she  asked.  "After  all  you  have  suf- 
fered for  Hugh,  is  it  not  very  little  to  bring 
you  here  and  nurse  you  well  ?  " 

"  I  hope  I  shall  not  need  any  nursing." 

"  You  see  I  have  made  elaborate  prepara- 
tions, at  least." 

She  led  him  into  the  parlor  as  she  spoke 
— that  same  parlor  which  he  had  entered 
once  before  in  the  dusk  of  the  gloaming — 
and  where  a  broad,  low  couch  was  wheeled 
before  the  fire,  with  cushions  piled  on  it,  and 
books  and  papers  near. 

"If  you  want  to  read  an  authentic  ac- 
count of  your  heroism,  there  is  the  morning's 
Post,''''  she  said,  with  a  smile,  as  (rather 
against  his  will)  she  made  him  lie  down. 
"  Or  shall  I  read  it  to  you  ?  Hugh  says  I 
read  very  well ;  and  I  was  taught  early  to 
mind  my  commas  and  stops." 

"  I  would  much  rather  hear  j"Ou  talk,"  he 
said,  looking  at  the  chair  from  which  she  had 
plainly  risen  at  the  sound  of  his  step.  "  I 
can't  help  thinking  that  I  am  dreaming.  This 
is  far  too  good  to  be  true." 

"  God  knows  if  anybody  had  prophesied 
it  to  me  this  time  yesterday  /  should  have 
thought  that  it  was  far  too  good  to  be  true," 
she  said,  looking  at  him  with  quick-rising 
tears  quenching  the  laughter  in  her  brown 
eyes.  Then,  before  he  could  conceive  what 
she  meant  to  do,  she  came  and  knelt  down 
by  his  couch,  laying  her  two  soft  hands  over 
one  of  his. 

"  0  Mr.  Tyrrell,"  she  said,  "  I  know  that 
brave  men  rarely  like  to  be  praised  or  thanked 
for  their  noble  deeds  ;  but  I  cannot  keep  si- 
lence. I  must — I  iL'ill  thank  you  for  giving 
Hugh  back  to  me ;  for  counting  your  own 
life  as  nothing  in  comparison  to  his  ;  for  dar- 
ing a  danger  from  which  any  man  might  well 
have  shrunk,  and  for — for — oh,  for  proving  to 
everybody  that  you  are  as  brave  and  gener- 
ous as  /always  knew  you  were  !  " 

Her  eyes  glowed,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her 


lips  quivered.  Nobody  could  have  doubted 
how  entirely  from  her  heart  those  eager  words 
came.  Tyrrell— rwho  usually  had  enough  of 
that  simplicity  which  accompanies  true  cour- 
age not  to  like  to  hear  his  own  achievements 
praised — would  have  been  something  more  or 
less  than  man  if,  in  this  instance,  he  had  not 
listened  with  more  than  pleasure.  He  tried 
to  stop  her,  but  she  would  not  be  stopped. 
The  generous  heart  was  no  niggard,  and 
meant  to  utter  all  it  felt  —  for  Margaret 
Churchill  was  not  a  woman  to  do  things  by 
halves. 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me  like  this,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  I  am  not  used  to  such  sweet  flattery. 
You  know — or  you  ought  to  know — that  I 
would  count  any  loss  or  suffering  a  positive 
gain  which  enabled  me  to  serve  you.  Fate 
has  been  kind  to  me  in  giving  me  this  op- 
portunity. I  alone,  therefore,  am  its  debtor. 
Hence,  all  is  said." 

"  Xo  ;  all  is  not  said,"  she  answered,  im- 
petuously. "  Indeed  " — with  smiles  brimming 
up  into  her  eyes  again,  like  the  April  mood  of 
a  child — "  I  really  have  not  an  idea  when  all 
will  be  said.  Not  in  a  long,  very  long  while, 
I  am  sure." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  are  going  to 
talk  for  a  very  long  while  about  me?''''  he 
asked,  slightly  dismayed. 

"  Yes,  about  you — and  a  little,  perhaps, 
about  Hugh.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Tyrrell,  that 
if  I  am  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world  this 
morning,  it  is  because  I  was  the  most  wretch- 
ed yesterday  morning  ?  "What  should  I  have 
done  if  Hugh  had  been  brought  back  to 
me  as  many  another  woman's  best-beloved 
was  brought  back  to  her  ?  How  should  I 
ever  have  forgiven  myself  if  you  had  cast 
your  life  away  in  the  errand  upon  which  I 
had  been  selfish  enough  to  send  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  not  sent  me,  I  should  have 
gone,"  he  said.  "  This  life  of  mine  is  not 
worth  so  much  that  I  would  not  freely  have 
given  it  to  save  the  son  of  Albert  Churchill — 
your  brother,  Margaret." 

When  he  called  her  Margaret,  she  colored 
and  drew  back.  Perhaps  she  did  not  ap- 
prove of  so  much  familiarity,  and  thought 
that  she  had  better  regain  the  safer  distance 
of  her  chair.  But  Tyrrell's  hands  closed  over 
hers,  and  she  was  captive. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  said,  imploringly.  "  I  re» 
peat  that  I  am  sure  this  must  be  a  dream ; 
but,  when  a  man  has  worked  long  and  weari- 


HUGH'S  YEXDETTA. 


61 


ly,  do  not  grudge  him  one  short  hour  of  happi- 
ness !  You  talk  of  yesterday  morning  and 
of  this  morning.  Thiuk  of  the  contrast  to 
■me!  Did  I  not  believe  then  tbat.I  was  part- 
ing from  you  forever  ?  Yet  here  I  am  in  the 
same  room  where  you  met  me  so  coldly,  and 
yet  where  you  spoke  such  brave,  gentle  words 
one  month  ago  !  " 

"  Ah,  but  you  know  you  are  dreaming  !  " 
she  said,  smiling. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  he  said,  with  sudden  passion. 
"  Then  God  knows  such  a  dream  is  worth 
more  than  all  my  waking  life  besides  !  Yet 
it  is  a  good  thing  to  be  alive  ! "  he  went  on  a 
little  wistfully.  "It  is  a  good  thing  to  come 
back  to  the  earth  which  is  brightened  by  such 
a  face  as  yours.  But,  0  Margaret !  what  shall 
I  do  when  that  face  goes  out  of  my  life 
again  ?  " 

"It  need  not  go,  unless  you  desire  it," 
she  answered,  gently.  "  I  told  you  yesterday 
that  it  was  impossible  we  could  be  friends.  I 
tell  you  now  that  we  shall  be  proud  and  happy 
to  claim  you  as  a  friend — ^if  you  will  let  us 
do  so." 

"  We!  Do  you  mean  your  brother  as  well 
as  yourself?  " 

"  Yes,  I  speak  for  Hugh  as  for  myself. 
'  We  Churchills  always  think  alike  on  a  point 
of  honor,'"  she  said,  quoting  Hugh's  words, 
half  proudly.  "  You  have  conquered  him, 
Mr.  Tyrrell ;  and  I  can  assure  you  that,  when 
Hugh  is  conquered  once,  he  is  conquered  for 
good." 

"  And  Hugh's  sister,  when  she  is  conquered 
once,  is  she  conquered  for  good  ?  " 

"  Always,"  she  answered,  looking  at  him 
with  her  frank,  loyal  eyes.  "  You  may  count 
Margaret  Churchill  your  friend  for  life." 

"  Ah,  but  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  content 
with  Margaret  Churchill  as  my  friend  for  life," 
he  said.  "  She  must  be  something  nearer  and 
dearer  to  me  than  that — or  else  not  so  much. 
Her  kindness — even  such  kindness  as  this — is 
too  dangerously  sweet  if  I  cannot  hope  for 
more.  No,  Margaret,  it  will  not  do,"  he 
went  on,  as  he  met  her  reproachful  glance. 
"  I  cannot  play  such  an  empty  part  as  to  talk 
of  friendship  with  love  burning  at  my  heart. 
I  know  you  think  I  am  ungenerous  to  speak 
of  this  at  a  time  when  I  seem  to  have  estab- 
lished a  claim  upon  you;  but  I  am  sure  you 
will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe  that  I  have 
no  desire  to  obtain  from  your  gratitude  what 
I  could  not  win  from  your  love." 
5 


"  Yes,  I  acquit  you  of  that,"  she  said,  in 
a  low  voice,     "  But  why  not  be  content — " 

"  With  your  friendship  ?  That  is  asking 
a  little  too  much  of  a  man  who  has  loved  you 
with  hopeless  passion  for  five  years,  Marga- 
ret. I  see  how  it  is,"  he  went  on,  as  she 
turned  her  face  from  him.  "  You  waive  the 
old  enmity  enough  to  admit  me  as  a  friend, 
but  honor,  pride,  conscience — God  only  knows 
what — will  not  let  you  waive  it  enough  to 
even  think  of  a  nearer  tie." 

She  did  not  speak,  but,  by  an  impatient 
gesture,  she  seemed  to  deny  this  interpreta- 
tion. 

"  Then  it  is  /—the  individual  man,  not 
the  son  of  Henry  Tyrrell — who  have  no  pow- 
er to  please,  no  hope  to  win  you,"  he  said, 
with  a  quick  sigh.  "  Well,  there  are  some 
things  that  come  not  at  one's  desire,  and 
which  no  man  is  strong  enough  to  win.  The 
fancy  of  a  woman's  heart,  they  say,  is  one  of 
these.  But  you  might  have  let  me  think  that 
it  was  the  old  vendetta,  Margaret.  You 
would  have  been  none  the  poorer,  and  I 
much  the  richer  for  that  consolation." 

"  Did  I  say  luhat  it  was  ?  "  she  asked, 
suddenly  flashing  her  face  round  upon  him 
with  impetuous  passion  burning  on  her  cheeks 
and  flooding  her  eyes.  "  Did  I  even — even 
say  it  was  any  thing  ?  " 

"  Margaret !  "  he  cried. 

He  sprang  up,  but,  as  he  did  so,  she  tore 
her  hands  from  his  grasp,  and  would  have 
retreated  if  he  had  not  caught  her  in  his 
arms. 

"  Let  mo  go,  Mr.  Tyrrell,"  she  said.  "  This 
is  not  generous." 

"  One  word,  Margaret,"  he  said.  "  You 
must  answer  the  question  now  which  you  did 
not  answer  yesterday.  Tell  me  only  this  :  if 
you  and  I  had  met  as  other  people  meet — no 
barrier  of  past  bitterness  between  us — could 
you  have  learned  to  love  me  then  ?  If  you 
can  only  say  'Yes' — 0  Margaret,  trust  me, 
no  effort  shall  be  wanting  on  my  part  that 
you  may  learn  that  lesson  yet," 

He  spoke  with  a  passion  that  might  have 
touched  any  woman's  heart  to  the  core,  but 
Margaret  Churchill  only  looked  up  in  his  face 
and  laughed. 

"  Do  you  think  love  is  ever  learned?  "  she 
asked.  "If  so,  it  must  be  an  exotic,  Mr. 
Tyrrell,  which  cannot  be  worth  very  much.. 
I  do  not  know,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
only  love  which  is  worth  receiving — and  doub- 


G2 


HUGH'S  VENDETTA. 


ly  the  only  which  is  worth  giving — is  that 
which  comes  as  unfettered  and  untaught  (I 
bad  almost  said  unsought),  as  the  free  sun- 
light from  heaven." 

"  And  that  love,  Margaret  ?  " 


She  laughed  again  ;  but  something  in  the 
eager,  anxious  pleading  of  his  face  made  her 
answer  him  without  further  prevarication : 

"  That  Ipve,"  she  said,  softly,  "  I  have 
always  given  you." 


THE       END. 


MISS    CHERITON'S   RIVAL. 


<<  ~l  TELEN",  is  it  possible  that  tou  have 
.11  not  finished  that  letter  yet  ?  " 
It  was  a  weary  and  slightly-plaintive  voice 
that  came  from  one  of  the  deep  bay-windows 
of  the  library  at  Trefalden  Manor,  and  made 
the  girl  addressed  raise  her  head  quickly 
from  the  table  over  which  she  was  bend- 
ing. 

"  Why,  Rafe  1  "  she  said,  with  a  little 
start ;  then  added,  in  an  ordinary  tone :  "  I 
did  not  know  that  you  were  there,  dear.  Yes, 
I  will  finish  in  a  minute.  But  it  is  such  an 
important  letter  that  I  must  be  specially  care- 
ful about  it,  you  know." 

"  Xo,  I  don't  know,"  responded  the  same 
voice,  this  time  a  little  perversely.  "  I  can't 
see  any  reason  why  you  should  be  specially 
careful  in  addressing  Miss  Cheriton." 

"  Consider  Miss  Cheriton  in  the  light  of 
Harry's ^«cee — is  there  no  reason,  then?  " 
"  Less  than  ever,  if  that  be  possible." 
"  "Well,  I  have  not  time  to  argue  with  you 
now.  I  must  finish  the  letter  and  take  it  to 
Aunt  Maida  for  inspection.  After  that,  I 
shall  be  at  your  service." 

Silence  after  this — silence  only  disturbed 
by  the  movement  of  Helen's  pen  across  the 
paper,  and  the  soft  swaying  of  the  green 
boughs  that  drooped  before  the  open  window. 
A  few  stray  gleams  of  sunshine  only  found 
admittance  through  the  jealous  curtain  of 
shade,  and  danced  and  flickered  about — some 
on  the  book-lined  walls,  some  on  the  polished 
floor  —  as   the   summer  breeze    capriciously 


tossed  the  rustling  leaves  outside.  One  of 
these  golden  intruders  fell  across  the  girl's 
white  dress,  danced  to  and  fro  across  her  pa- 
per, and  seemed  to  linger  tenderly  over  the 
slender  hand  as  she  made  a  final  flourish  of 
her  pen  at  the  bottom  of  the  page,  and  then 
pushed  it  from  her. 

When  she  lifted  her  face  it  looked  pale 
and  somewhat  weary.  Yet,  even  with  these 
disadvantages,  the  summer  sunshine  might 
have  travelled  far  before  it  would  have  found 
a  lovelier  face  on  which  to  rest.  The  com- 
plexion was  stainless  of  color  as  marble,  the 
features  were  exquisitely  delicate,  the  eyes 
large  and  dark,  and  the  hair  of  that  rich,  red 
gold  which  is  at  once  the  rarest  and  most 
beautiful  tint  known  to  Nature  or  to  art. 
There  was  something  exceedingly  quaiut  in 
her  style  of  beauty ;  and,  notwithstanding 
that  one  glance  at  her  face  might  have  proved 
to  the  dullest  comprehension  that  here  was 
one  of  the  exceptional  women  who  could  say 
with  Cleopatra — 

"  Like  the  moon,  I  make 
The  ever-shifting  current  of  the  blood, 
According  to  my  humor,  ebb  and  flow  " — 

there  was  also  a  childlike  simplicity  and 
grace  about  her  which  made  a  strange  and 
attractive  contrast  to  her  extraordinary  beau- 
ty. Indeed,  the  full  revelation  of  this  beauty 
had  yet  to  come  to  Helen  Trefalden.  As  she 
stood  up  now,  and,  pushing  back  her  hair  with 
a  tired  gesture,  looked  into  a  large  mirror  op- 
posite, she  knew,  of  course — she  would  have 
been  blind  if  she  had  not  known — what  rare 
loveliness  was  imaged  there.     But  she  real- 


64 


MISS   CHERITON'S   RIVAL. 


ized  no  more  than  the  merest  child  what  a 
potent  power  in  the  world — a  power  setting 
at  defiance  all  other  powers — such  loveliness 
could  be  made. 

"  Rafe,  dear,"  she  said,  "  on  considera- 
tion, I  won't  take  this  letter  to  Aunt  Maida 
just  now.  She  is  probably  asleep,  and  I 
should  only  disturb  her.  Shall  I  bring  the 
German  grammar,  and  let  us  study  our  lesson 
together  ? ' 

"Not  to-day,"  was  the  answer.  "It  is 
too  warm  for  German.  In  fact,  I  think  we 
have  fagged  away  at  it  long  enough.  Come 
here — let  us  be  idle  and  talk." 

Helen  obeyed,  but  it  was  rather  slowly. 
Her  lagging  step,  and  a  slight  contraction  of 
the  brows,  seemed  to  indicate  that  she  would 
rather  have  been  left  alone ;  but  still  she 
summoned  a  smile  as  she  drew  back  the  cur- 
tains and  faced  a  small,  delicate  cripple — boy 
or  man,  it  was  hard  to  say  which — who  lay 
on  a  couch  under  the  open  window. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  here  I  am.  What 
will  you  have  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  look  at 
you." 

She  sat  down  without  any  demur,  and  re- 
turned the  gaze  which  he  bent  on  her.  Yet 
this  was  no  trifling  thing  to  do,  for  many 
people  found  Rafe  Trefalden's  eyes  exceed- 
ingly hard  to  meet.  People,  in  especial,  who 
had  any  thing  to  conceal,  always  grew  un- 
comfortable when  those  bright,  hazel  eyes 
rested  on  them — eyes  which  looked  as  if  they 
might  have  read,  not  only  the  face,  but  the 
heart  and  mind  as  well ;  which  were  luminous 
with  intellect,  full  of  a  certain  satirical  hu- 
mor, and  sometimes  ( not  always )  shining 
with  a  tender  beauty  which  made  his  cousin 
think  that  he  had  not  been  ill-named  Raphael, 
after  the  angel  of  God.  Although  he  looked 
so  young,  he  had  reached  the  full  years  of 
manhood  ;  though,  as  far  as  practical  useful- 
ness went,  manhood  was  to  him  at  most  only 
an  empty  name.  He  had  been  a  cripple  since 
early  childhood.  But  for  this,  "  he  might 
have  been  any  thing,"  his  teachers  always 
said  ;  and  his  parents — whose  only  other  son 
was  by  no  means  intellectually  gifted — felt 
the  disappointment  so  bitterly  that  it  almost 
weaned  their  affection  from  the  unconscious 
cause  of  it.  There  was  no  want  of  kindness, 
no  want  of  tender  and  considerate  care  ;  but 
there  was  a  want  of  that  golden  sympathy 
without  which  human  hearts  shrivel  and  be- 


come like  unto  the  dust  beneath  our  feet. 
Into  this  state  Rafe  Trefalden  was  drifting 
when  an  influence  which  was  to  save  him  en- 
tered his  Ufe.  He  was  fifteen  when  a  young- 
er brother  of  his  father  died,  leaving  an  insol- 
vent estate  and  an  orphan  child.  The  estate 
Mr.  Trefalden  handed  over  to  the  dead  man's 
creditors ;  the  child  he  brought  home  and 
adopted  into  his  own  family.  "  As  she  grows 
older,  she  will  be  of  great  service  to  you,"  he 
said  to  his  wife,  who  was  a  languid  invalid  ; 
and  his  prophecy  was  amply  verified  :  for,  as 
the  little  Helen  grew  older,  she  became  vir- 
tually her  aunt's  right  hand,  doing  every 
thing  brightly  and  cheerfully  which  a  paid 
companion  would  have  done  as  a  matter  of 
taskwork  and  duty.  But,  above  all,  she  was 
Rafe's  friend,  companion,  pupil,  and  sister. 
The  affection  between  these  two  was  singu- 
larly touching  in  its  depth  and  intensity. 
For  ten  years  they  had  shared  every  feeling 
in  common,  until  of  late  a  slight  cloud  of  re- 
serve had  risen  between  them  which  Rafe 
was  plainly  determined  should  be  dissipated 
now. 

"  Helen,"  he  said,  quite  abruptly,  "  of 
course  nobody  else  could  see  it;  but  I  see 
that  you  are  sufiering." 

Helen  smiled — not  brightly,  nor  yet  sadly, 
but  with  an  expression  between  the  two. 

"  Not  much,  dear,"  she  said.  "  And  you 
may  trust  me  that  it  will  soon  be  less." 

"  It  almost  kills  me  to  think  that  a  man 
like  that  has  power  to  make  you  suffer  for  a 
moment." 

"  Don't  blame  him,  Rafe,"  she  said,  with  a 
sudden  mixture  of  gentleness  and  contempt. 
"  He  is  weak,  you  know,  and  easily  swayed  by 
whatever  face  is  near  him.  Then  it  would 
have  been  hard  if  he  had  been  bound  by  a 
boy  and  girl  fancy.  He  went  into  the  world 
and  forgot  it.  I  stayed  here  and  remembered 
it.     That  is  all." 

"  He  is  the  first  Trefalden  whom  I  ever 
knew  or  heard  of  wishout  a  sense  of  honor," 
said  Rafe,  bitterly. 

"  That  is  where  you  do  him  injustice," 
said  Helen,  quickly.  "  I  am  sure  he  does  not 
even  imagine  that  he  was  in  any  manner 
bound  to  me.  Don't  you  know  how  different- 
ly a  man  of  the  world  looks  at  these  things  ? 
I  assure  you  I  do  not  blame  any  thing  but  my 
own  folly.  I  understand  all  the  rest  so 
well." 

"  And  you  don't  understand  that  ?  " 


MISS  CHERITON'S    RIVAL. 


65 


"  Xo,  I  don't  understand  that.  However, 
it  is  not  any  thing  which  it  matters  about  un- 
derstanding. What  is  to  be  borne,  I  can 
bear,  Rafe.     You  may  be  sure  of  that." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  dear,"  said  Rafe,  gently. 

"  And  pray  remember  that  I  am  neither 
so  weak  nor  so  unjust  as  to  feel  any  bitterness 
toward  Miss  Cheriton.  Every  word  of  that 
letter  I  wrote  as  willingly  as  Aunt  Maida  her- 
self could  have  done.  When  she  comes,  I 
shall  be  as  warmly  disposed  to  like  her  as 
every  one  of  Harry's  kindred  should  be  dis- 
posed to  like  Harry's  future  wife." 

"  Is  that  a  cut  at  me,  Helen  ?  " 

"  Do  I  ever  make  cuts  at  you,  Rafe  ?  " 

"  It  sounded  like  it,"  said  Rafe,  laughing 
a  little.  "  You  know  very  well  that  one,  at 
least,  of  Harry's  kindred  is  by  no  means  dis- 
posed to  like  Harry's  future  wife." 

"  You  don't  know  it,  Rafe,  but  you're 
prejudiced." 

"  I  prejudiced ! "  said  Rafe,  indignantly. 
"  How  often  have  I  told  you  that  I  am  a  phi- 
losopher, Helen,  and  that  philosophers  are 
never  prejudiced !  You  are  like  all  the  rest  of 
your  sex.  You  don't  understand  that  calm, 
dispassionate  mode  of  judging  which  puts  any 
bias  of  like  or  dislike  entirely  aside." 

"  Xo,  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Helen, 
smiling  faintly;  "and  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that,  notwithstanding  all  your  pains,  I  never 
shall  understand  it.  There  is  one  thing,  how- 
ever, Rafe,  that  you  must  promise  me.  Meet 
Miss  Cheriton  kindly,  and  don't  chill  her  as 
you  chill  some  people." 

"  Must  I  promise  it  for  your  sake,  Helen  ?  " 

"  Yes,  promise  it  for  my  sake ;  and  re- 
member that  I  shall  exact  a  strict  perform- 
ance of  the  promise." 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  made  a  promise 
which  I  did  not  keep,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  And 
yet  my  heart  misgives  me  about  this  girl  and 
her  visit,  Helen.  Somehow  or  other  I  am 
sure  that  harm  will  come  of  it." 

"  I  don't  see  any  possible  harm  that  can 
come  of  it,"  said  Helen,  flushing.  "  You  need 
not  fear  for  me,  Rafe,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean." 

"  I  never  feared  for  you  in  my  life,  dear," 
answered  Rafe.  "  It  would  be  rather  late  to 
begin  now." 

It  is  one  thing,  however,  to  make  an  as- 
sertion, and  quite  another  to  fulfil  it  in  spirit 
and  letter.  Rafe  Trefalden  would  have  scorned 
himself  if  he  had  suspected  for  a  moment  that 


there  was  any  need  to  "fear"  for  his  cousin 
— any  need  to  think  that  she  was  not  able  to 
guard  her  own  dignity — but  his  heart  yearned 
over  her  pain  almost  as  a  mother's  might  have 
done;  and  day  by  day  he  grew  more  nervous 
as  the  time  appointed  for  his  brother's  return 
approached. 

It  was  not  more  than  a  week  after  Helen 
wrote  her  letter  to  Miss  Cheriton  that  this 
august  personage  arrived.  He  came  late  one 
night,  and  was  not  seen  by  any  of  the  family 
until  the  next  morning,  when,  descending  to 
the  breakfast-room,  he  found  that,  instead  of 
the  domestic  circle  he  had  hoped  to  see  as- 
sembled, his  brother  Rafe  was  in  solitary  oc- 
cupation of  the  field.  There  had  never  been 
any  love  lost  between  these  two  brothers,  and 
they  exchanged  a  very  indiflerent  greeting 
now. 

"  So,  you've  got  back  at  last,  Harry ! " 
said  Rafe.     "  How  are  you,  pray  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  indeed,  thank  you,"  respond- 
ed Harry,  carelessly.     "  How  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  as  usual,  thanks." 

"And  how  are  all  the  rest?  How  is  my 
mother  ?  " 

"  Much  better  within  the  last  week  or 
two,  I  think." 

"  And  my  father  and  Helen  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  I  believe." 

A  few  more  domestic  commonplaces  were 
exchanged,  and  then  the  elder  brother  saun- 
tered to  the  window. 

"  It  looks  pretty  out  on  the  terrace,"  he 
said.  "  I  believe  I  will  take  a  turn,  until 
breakfast  is  ready.  You  will  excuse  me, 
Rafe  ?  " 

But,  much  to  his  surprise  and  not  at  all 
to  his  gratification,  Rafe  volunteered  to  ac- 
company him.  "You  can't  go  far,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  I  am  good  for  a  short  distance.  Will 
you  hand  me  my  crutches,  there  ?  " 

The  crutches  were  handed  over,  and  they 
set  out  together.  The  summer  morning  met 
them  with  a  perfect  burst  of  loveliness,  as 
they  stepped  through  the  window.  Roses 
were  climbing  and  clustering  everywhere, 
while  beyond  were  the  smooth  lawn,  park- 
like shrubbery,  and,  farther  still — over  beyond 
the  orchards  and  meadows — a  curtain  of  mist 
which  marked  the  river,  as  it  wound  along 
the  rich  lowlands,  the  soft,  blue  hills  melting 
away  on  either  side.  Trefalden  gave  a  slight 
whistle  as  he  stood  still  and  looked  around. 
It  had  been  two  years  since  he  saw  the  Manor 


66 


MISS   CHERITON'S   RIVAL. 


last,  and  all  impressions  faded  quickly  from 
his  mind. 

"  By  Jove,  it  is  lovely  !  "  he  said.  "  I 
don't  believe  there's  a  prettier  place  in  the 
country.  Rafe,  I  never  saw  any  thing  to 
equal  it." 

"  It  is  certainly  lovely,"  ?aid  Rafe,  to 
whom  the  Manor  was,  next  to  Helen,  the 
dearest  thing  in  the  world.  "  I  did  not  know 
how  it  would  strike  a  travelled  gentleman  like 
yourself,"  he  went  on,  with  an  inflection  of 
sarcasm,  which  his  brother  knew  very  well. 
"  I  am  gratified  to  see  that  you  appreciate 
it." 

"  By  George  !  nobody  could  help  appreci- 
ating it,"  said  Trefalden.  "  I  don't  think  it 
could  be  improved.  By-the-by,  are  any  of 
the  country  neighbors  'worth  cultivating  ?  We 
shall  need  to  be  quite  gay  in  the  course  of 
the  next  fortnight,  you  know."  (Ominous  si- 
lence on  Rafe's  part.)  "  Miss  Cheriton  would 
die  of  the  vapors,  if  we  condemned  her  to  a 
family  party  all  the  time.  Have  any  plans  for 
her  amusement  been  made  ?  " 

"  That  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  I 
have  made  none.  I  won't  answer  for  the 
others." 

"  You  see  she  leaves  the  gayest  kind  of 
a  life  in  the  city,  to  come  down  here ;  and 
so,  of  course —  By  Jove,  Rafe  !  who  is 
that  ?  " 

"  Have  you  managed  to  forget  Helen  as 
well  as  the  Manor,  in  the  course  of  two 
years  ?  "  asked  Rafe,  with^ot  a  little  bitter- 
ness. 

But,  for  once,  the  bitterness  escaped  his 
brother's  ear.  He  stood  still  and  gazed  in 
astonished  admiration  at  the  picture  which 
a  turn  of  the  path  disclosed  to  him.  It  was 
only  Helen ;  but  Helen  was  in  herself  a  mar- 
vel, on  that  bright  summer  morning,  standing 
among  the  roses  like  another  Proserpine.  She 
did  not  see  the  two  young  men,  for  her  face 
was  turned  aside  as  she  clipped  right  and  left 
with  her  large  garden-shears,  and  filled  the 
basket  which  hung  on  her  arm  with  roses  of 
every  hue  and  kind.  As  they  paused,  she 
was  in  the  act  of  reaching  after  a  large  bud 
which  hung  just  above  her  head.  Catching 
the  bough,  she  sent  a  shower  of  glittering 
dew  and  perfumed  petals  down  upon  her  face, 
but,  in  spite  of  both,  broke  off  the  coveted 
blossom  triumphantly,  and  then,  turning,  all 
in  a  glow,  faced  her  cousins. 

Rafe,  who  watched  her  nervously,  was  re- 


lieved to  see  that  she  neither  started  nor 
turned  pale.  She  looked  a  little  surprised, 
then  smiled,  and  advanced  with  outstretched 
hand. 

"  "Welcome  back,  Harry,"  she  said.  "  We 
began  to  fear  that  you  had  quite  forsaken 
us." 

"  There  was  no  danger  of  that,"  said  Har- 
ry, a  little  breathlessly.  "I  am  amazingly 
glad  to  get  back,"  he  went  on,  holding  her 
hand,  and  gazing  into  her  face  with  an  admi- 
ration which  enraged  Rafe.  "  What  have  you 
been  doing  to  yourself,  Helen  ?  "  he  cried,  sud- 
denly. *'  You  were  not  always  as  pretty  as 
this,  surely?" 

"  One  is  not  able  to  decide  upon  one's  own 
looks,"  said  Helen,  smiling ;  "  but  I  don't  think 
I  have  improved  much  in  these  two  years.  In- 
deed, Aunt  Maida  says  that  I  have  decidedly 
gone  off." 

"  Mamma  must  be  blind,  then.  —  Rafe, 
don't  you  think  that  she  has  improved  won- 
derfully?" 

But,  before  Rafe  could  reply,  Helen  inter- 
posed. 

"  You  ought  to  remember  I  have  not  been 
accustomed  to  compliments  since  you  went 
away.  Besides,  I  can't  stop  to  hear  them 
now.  Breakfast  will  be  ready — I  only  came 
out  for  some  roses  to  fill  the  vases." 

"  And  we  only  came  out  in  search  of  you," 
said  Harry.     "So  we  will  go  back  now." 

Back  accordingly  they  went — Rafe  limp- 
ing grimly  along,  while  his  brother's  ready 
compliments  flowed  with  a  facility  which 
proved  an  extensive  practice  in  this  branch 
of  social  accomplishment.  With  this,  as  with 
every  thing  else,  however,  there  is  a  great 
deal  in  being  inspired  ;  and  no  better  inspira- 
tion could  have  been  asked  than  Helen's  face, 
as  it  looked  up  at  her  cousin.  During  all 
these  years  spent  among  women  who  were 
famous  beauties  and  belles,  Henry  Trefalden 
had  seen  no  face  to  compare  with  it,  and  the 
realization  of  this  fact  came  to  him  with  an 
amazement  too  deep  for  words. 

Occasionally  he  had  thought,  with  half- 
amused  tenderness,  of  the  pretty  cousin  far 
away  in  the  green  solitudes  of  the  Manor,  for 
whom  he  had  once  had  a  boy's  sentimental 
fancy ;  but  that  the  pretty  cousin  was  in 
reality  such  a  woman  as  the  one  before  him, 
had  never  for  a  moment  occurred  to  his  mind. 
He  had  forgotten  her  face  as  completely  as 
he  had  forgotten  to  how  much  that  sentimen- 


» 


SI 


> 
o 


pq 


MISS   CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


67 


tal  fancy  of  which  he  thought  so  lightly  had 
bound  him.  Such  volatile,  impressionable 
people  are  common  enough  in  the  world.  No 
man  would  have  stood  more  stanchly  by  a 
point  of  honor  (understood  as  such)  than 
Trefalden  ;  but,  what  with  a  mind  from  which 
impressions  were  easily  effaced,  and  a  heart 
on  which  impressions  were  easily  made,  and 
a  convenient  habit  of  ignoring  whatever 
chanced  to  be  in  the  least  degree  disagree- 
able or  embarrassing,  he  had  managed  to 
drift  into  a  position  which  would  have  star- 
tled him  if  he  could  have  seen  it  with — the 
eyes  of  his  brother,  for  instance. 

Fortunately,  however,  we  do  7ici  "  see  our- 
selves as  others  see  us,"  and  so  we  are  spared 
some  very  shocking  disclosures  with  regard 
to  the  opinion  in  which  we  are  held  by  our 
friends  and  relatives.  Trefalden  was  in  the 
best  possible  spirits,  the  best  possible  humor 
with  himself  and  everybody  else,  as  he  saun- 
tered along  between  his  brother  and  his  cous- 
in, both  of  whom  were  puzzled,  and  one  of 
whom  was  indignant  at  his  light  unconscious- 
ness. 

"What  does  he  mean?"  thought  Helen, 
•wistfully.  "  Surely  he  has  not  forgotten — 
every  thing ! " 

"The  insolent  puppy!"  thought  Eafe. 
"  He  believes  he  can  amuse  himself  with 
Helen,  whenever  he  has  nothing  better  to 
do." 

Trefalden,  meanwhile,  was  talking  in  the 
gayest  and,  as  he  flattered  himself,  the  hap- 
piest strain  imaginable. 

"  Whijt  delightful  times  we  used  to  have 
Helen  ! "  he  was  saying.  "  They  would  be 
worth  living  over  again,  wouldn't  they?  Do 
you  remember  our  rows  on  the  river  ?  By- 
the-by,  is  the  boat  in  good  order  ?  I  must 
certainly  take  you  out  again,  and  then  we  can 
talk  over  the  old  days  at  our  leisure." 

"I  don't  think  you  would  find  much  that 
was  worth  talking  over,"  said  Helen.  "  Old 
days  do  well  enough  for  sentiment,  you  know, 
but  not  at  all  for  active  interest. — Ah  !  we 
are  just  in  time.  Breakfast  is  ready,  and 
here  comes  Uncle  George." 

Mr.  Trefalden  entered  the  dining  -  room 
door  as  the  group  of  three  made  their  ap- 
pearance through  the  window.  He  was  a 
handsome,  middle-aged  gentleman,  of  very 
reserved  manners,  who  shook  hands  with  his 
son  as  if  they  had  met  the  week  before,  and 
nodded  to  Rafe  and  Helen. 


"  Glad  to  see  you  back,  Harry,"  he  said. 
"  I  hope  you  mean  to  spend  some  time  with 
us.  The  country's  pleasant  just  now,  and 
quite  a  relief  from  the  city,  I  should  think. 
I  trust  you  left  Miss  Cheriton  well  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Harry, 
who  knew  his  father  too  well  to  feel  at  all 
chilled  by  this  reception.  "  She  sent  her 
kind  regards  to  my  mother  and  yourself,  and 
hopes  to  see  you  soon,"  he  went  on.  "  Her 
aunt  and  herself  think  of  coming  down  next 
week." 

"Your  mother  is  very  much  pleased  with 
her  letter,"  said  Mr.  Trefalden,  as  if  the  whole 
affair  was  a  matter  of  the  most  profound  in- 
difference to  him.  "  I  believe  she  mentioned 
the  20th  as  the  date  on  which  she  will  leave 
the  city — was  it  not,  Helen?  " 

During  breakfast  Mr.  Henry  Trefalden 
decidedly  monopolized  conversation,  talking 
gayly  of  himself,  his  friends,  and  affairs,  es- 
pecially his  plans  for  the  next  few  weeks,  d 
propos  of  which  he  announced,  in  an  off-hand 
kind  of  way,  that  "Latimer"  was  coming 
down  to  spend  some  time  with  him. 

Questioned  regarding  who  Latimer  might 
be,  it  transpired  that  this  was  a  person  whom 
not  to  know  argued  one's  self  unknown. 

"Is  it  possible  you  never  heard  of  him?" 
Trefalden  asked.  "  So  much  for  human  great- 
ness— and  Latimer  is  a  very  great  man  in  his 
own  circle." 

"  Is  it  the  Latimer  of  whom  you  used 
to  talk  when  you  were  at  college  ?  "  asked 
Helen. 

"  The  very  same." 

"  And  in  what  respect  has  he  become  dis- 
tinguished ?  " 

"  In  his  profession,  for  one  thing.  Young 
as  he  is,  he  has  already  the  reputation  of 
being  one  of  the  ablest  pleaders  and  most 
brilliant  speakers  at  the  bar.  His  intellect 
is  said  to  be  so  keen  that  even  the  oldest 
lawyers  quail  before  him." 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  imitate  their  exam- 
ple," said  Helen,  laughing.  "And  is  he 
equally  a  conquering  hero  in  society  ?  " 

"Equally  so.  In  fact,  he  has  been  the 
rage  for  a  season  or  two  ;  and  any  one  who 
did  not  know  him  intimately  could  not  have 
imagined  that  the  indifferent  hero  of  dinner- 
parties and  balls  was,  at  the  same  time,  the 
hardest-working  student  possible  to  imagine. 
In  his  profession  he  has  an  amount  of  energy 
that  I  have  never  seen  surpassed  ;  but  in  so- 


68 


MISS   CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


ciety  you  would  think  that  his  sole  aim  in 
life  was  to  kill  time  and  avoid  being  bored." 

"  He  must  be  very  affected." 

"  No,  for  there's  a  certain  charm  about 
him  with  it  all.  Women,  by  the  scores,  fall 
in  love  with  him ;  and  it  is  only  friendly  to 
give  you  a  hint  to  look  after  your  own  heart." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Helen,  smiling.  Then 
she  rose  from  the  table.  "  I  must  go  to  Aunt 
Maida  now,"  she  said.  "I  -will  send  you 
word  whether  or  not  she  feels  well  enough  to 
see  you  this  morning." 

"Bring  me  word,  please,"  said  be,  rising 
also,  and  walking  with  her  into  the  hall. 
"  Don't  press  mamma  to  see  me,  if  she's  not 
well  enough,"  he  went  on.  "  You  know  I  am 
good  for  a  month  at  least.  Indeed,  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  shall  ever  go  away  again.  Every 
thing  is  so  charming." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  said  she,  qui- 
etly; "but  our  monotonous  life  would  soon 
grow  very  tiresome  to  a  fashionable  gentle- 
man like  yourself.  If  you  support  it  with 
philosophy  for  a  month,  I  shall  be  aston- 
ished." 

"  That  is  because  you  don't  know — " 

"  What?  "  (as  he  paused.) 

"  Oh !  a  good  many  things.  Myself  for 
one — yourself  for  another." 

"  And  Miss  Cheriton  for  a  third,  no  doubt. 
Well,  I  trust  you  may  find  us  moderately  en- 
tertaining. At  least,  we  have  every  desire  to 
be  so." 

"  And,  with  the  desire,  the  power — not  to 
be  moderately  entertaining,  but  to  be  danger- 
ously charming" — (adding,  as  he  saw  her  col- 
or and  draw  back) — "I  think  I  ought  in  con- 
science to  write  and  warn  Latimer." 

"  Do,"  said  she,  trying  to  speak  lightly ; 
"  I  give  you  leave  to  paint  me  in  any  colors 
sufficiently  formidable  to  keep  him  away. 
And  now  a  truce  to  nonsense,  Harry — pray 
move  aside  and  let  me  pass.  Aunt  Maida 
will  wonder  what  keeps  me." 

"  And  when  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  " 

"At  dinner,  probably." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  "  (imploringly.)  "  I  shall 
smoke  a  cigar  on  the  terrace,  and  wait  for 
you — as  I  used  to  do.  Pray,  come,  Helen ;  I 
have  so  much  to  talk  to  you  about." 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  promise,"  said 
Helen,  coldly.  "  Aunt  Maida  usually  keeps 
me  some  time.     Good-morning." 

"  I  shall  certainly  look  for  you,  and  wait 
for  you,"  said  he. 


But  he  looked  and  waited  in  vain.  The 
morning  passed,  and  no  Helen  came.  Poor 
Helen  !  She  was  in  her  own  room,  lighting  a 
battle  with  herself,  of  which  that  loiterer 
among  the  roses  never  even  dreamed.  His 
utter  unconsciousness  was  in  a  manner  worse 
than  if  he  fully  realized  all  that  he  had  done. 
"  It  is  I  who  have  been  mistaken  from  first  to 
last,"  she  thought ;  and  that  bitter  sense  of 
having  given  her  heart  unasked — the  most 
bitter  in  the  world  to  a  sensitive  woman — 
rushed  over  her  like  a  flood.  She  could  only 
soothe  it  by  recalling  words  and  tones  which 
Trefalden  himself  had  entirely  forgotten,  but 
which  would  certainly  have  startled  him  rude- 
ly if  they  could  have  faced  him  instead  of 
those  pleasant  visions  which  curled  before 
him  with  the  smoke  of  his  cigar. 

II. 

During  the  next  week,  Helen  had  a  diffi- 
cult and  very  trying  part  to  play,  for  Trefal- 
den was  one  of  the  large  class  of  men  who 
always  make  love  to  the  lips  that  are  nearest, 
without  any  regard  to  ties  which  may  bind 
them  to  lips  farther  off.  His  patronizing  fan- 
cy for  his  pretty  cousin,  his  continual  refer- 
ence to  those  past  days  of  which  he  thought 
so  lightly,  and  his  Sublime  unconsciousness  of 
the  fact  that  she  desired  to  avoid  him,  all  con- 
spired to  make  this  week  something  of  a 
nightmare  to  the  girl — so  much  of  a  night- 
mare, indeed,  that  she  was  heartily  glad  when 
the  day  appointed  for  Miss  Cheriton's  arrival 
drew  near. 

Punctual,  for  once,  to  an  appointed  date, 
this  young  lady  came — her  aunt  and  her  maid 
and  her  trunks  and  herself — creating  a  sensi- 
ble commotion  in  the  Manor,  which  had  long 
been  unused  to  such  fashionable  incursions. 
Being  a  beauty  and  a  belle.  Miss  Cheriton 
was  well  used  to  creating  a  commotion,  how- 
ever; and  it  is  doubtful  if  she  would  have 
thought  that  her  mission  in  life  had  been  ac- 
complished without  the  eclat  and  noise  which 
invariably  attended  her  steps.  Her  aunt  was 
a  wealthy  and  childless  widow,  who  was  chief 
among  her  loyal  subjects,  and  whose  indul- 
gent partiality  was  returned  by  the  most  op- 
pressive tyranny  that  can  be  imagined.  "  0 
Louise!"  the  poor  lady  would  say  when  un- 
usually ruthless  demands  were  made  upon 
her  time,  her  patience,  or  her  purse.  But 
the  force  of  expostulation  never  went  further 
than  this,  and  Louise  never  failed  to  come  off 


MISS   CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


69 


victor  from  any  and  every  conflict  that  oc- 
curred. There  had  been  some  such  faint 
show  of  resistance  over  this  visit  to  Trefalden 
Manor.  Mrs.  Surrey  had  been  opposed  to  it, 
but  Louise  had  borne  down  all  opposition  in 
her  imperious  way.  "  If  you  don't  want  to 
go,  auntie,  you  need  not,  of  course,"  she 
said;  "but  I'm  going,  you  know."  In  this 
view  of  the  case,  what  could  poor  Mrs.  Sur- 
rey do  but  go  also?  "You  will  be  sorry, 
Louise,  if  you  should  not  marry  young  Tre- 
falden, after  all,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  know  you 
too  well  to  be  certain  you'll  marry  him  until  I 
sec  you  at  the  altar."  "I'm  not  at  all  certain 
myself,"  returned  Louise,  carelessly;  "but 
they  say  it  is  a  beautiful  old  place,  and  I 
mean  to  go  and  see  it." 

The  beautiful  old  place  was  accordingly 
honored  by  this  condescension,  and  roused 
by  the  tide  of  life  that  rushed  into  it.  The 
sober  drawing-room  of  the  Manor  scarcely 
seemed  like  itself,  Helen  thought,  as  she 
looked  round,  on  the  evening  of  Miss  Cheri- 
ton's  first  appearance.  Besides  the  family 
and  the  two  newly-arrived  guests,  was  a  third 
stranger  who  had  come  down  to  the  city  in 
Miss  Cheriton's  train,  or,  at  least,  on  the  same 
train  as  that  young  lady.  This  was  Harry's 
distinguished  friend,  Mr.  Latimer. 

"  If  I  had  not  been  told  that  he  was  dis- 
tinguished, I  should  never  have  suspected 
it,"  said  Helen,  aside  to  Rafe. 

"Xot  at  first,  perhaps,"  the  latter  an- 
swered, "  but  afterward  I  think  you  would. 
He  has  more  sense  than  I  should  have  given 
the  man  whom  Harry  described,  credit  for. 
Look  at  his  brow  and  at  his  eyes  !  " 

"  But  he  is  not  handsome  at  all,"  said 
Helen,  half  disappointed.  Certainly  she  was 
right.  Mr.  Latimer  was  not  handsome  — 
thoroughly  high-bred  and  refined  in  appear- 
ance, but  undoubtedly  not  gifted  with  any 
trump  cards  in  the  way  of  good  looks.  He 
was  small  and  slender,  with  a  thin,  dark  face, 
black  hair,  a  heavy  black  mustache,  and  eyes 
that  should  have  been  black  also,  but  were, 
instead,  of  a  deep  violet  blue,  fringed  by  the 
longest  and  darkest  of  lashes  —  very  hand- 
some eyes,  and  eyes  that  were  singularly  ex- 
pressive, but,  unfortunately,  'so  near-sighted 
that  he  could  not  have  recognized  his  own 
mother  at  a  distance  of  ten  paces.  He  man- 
aged, however,  to  discover  something  in  Helen 
which  struck  him  as  sufficiently  attractive 
to  induce  him  to  cross  the  floor  and  make  his 


first  effort  toward  cultivating  her  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  Won't  the  beautiful  evening  tempt  you 
to  follow  Miss  Cheriton's  example  and  go  out 
on  the  terrace.  Miss  Trefalden  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Miss  Cheriton  is  a  stranger,  and  has 
been  taken  out  to  admire  the  view,"  an- 
swered Helen,  smiling.  "  You  can  imagine 
that  it  would  not  have  the  merit  of  novelty 
to  me." 

"  But  I  am  a  stranger,  too,  and,  though 
views  are  mostly  of  small  importance  to  me, 
owing  to  my  infirmity  of  vision,  still  I  like  to 
see  what  can  be  seen.  Perhaps,  however" 
(noticing  that  she  hesitated),  "  you  don't  feel 
inclined  to  play  cicerone?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes.  I  am  too  fond  of  the  Manor 
not  to  be  fond  also  of  showint;  it  off. — Rafe. 
will  you  come  ?  " 

Mr.  Latimer  courteously  seconded  this  re- 
quest; but  Rafe  had  sufficient  discretion  to 
excuse  himself  on  the  score  of  dew ;  so  the 
others  went  off  alone.  The  soft,  fragrant 
evening  seemed  to  be  holding  the  world  in  a 
spell  of  beauty  when  they  came  out  —  the 
west  was  still  glowing,  and  Venus  alone  was 
visible,  holding  her  court  with  all  the  clear 
heaven  to  herself,  above  the  golden  fringe  of 
sunset  clouds. 

"  It  is  rather  too  late  for  distant  effects," 
said  Latimer,  "  but  every  thing  near  at  hand 
is  lovely.  What  an  exquisite  old  place  !  Ivy 
and  roses,  and — and,  as  I  live,  a  bed  of  lilies  ! 
Lilies  are  one  of  the  few  things  that  still  re- 
tain the  aroma  of  youth  for  me — I  mean  the 
aroma  that  every  thing  beautiful  has  for  us 
in  youth.  Miss  Trefalden,  may  I  have  a 
lily?" 

"  As  many  as  you  like,  Mr.  Latimer,"  said 
Helen,  putting  out  her  hand  with  a  smile. 
She  broke  off  one  of  the  tall  flowers,  and,  as 
she  turned  and  held  it  toward  him,  Latimer 
almost  caught  his  breath.  At  that  moment, 
he  could  liken  her  to  nothing  save  the  Angel 
of  the  Annunciation.  The  slender,  stately 
figure,  dressed  in  pure  white,  stood  outlined 
against  the  golden  background  of  the  western 
sky,  and  the  whole  scene,  with  its  accessories 
— the  hair  which  seemed  to  make  a  halo  of 
glory  about  her  head,  the  stainless  lily  in  her 
hand — stamped  themselves  on  his  memory, 
and  were  ever  afterward  summoned  before 
him  by  the  mere  fragrance  of  that  flower, 
which  he  had  said  alone  retained  for  him  the 
aroma  of  youth. 


70 


MISS   CHERITON'S   RIVAL. 


"Does  not  this  suit  you?"  asked  Helen, 
■who  saw  bis  hesitation,  but  had  not  vanity 
enough  to  suspect  its  cause. 

"  No  other  one  could  suit  me  half  as  well 
as  the  one  you  have  been  kind  enough  to 
choose  for  me,"  he  answered,  taking  it  as  he 
spoke.  "  Now  that  I  have  it,  it  is  like  many 
another  good  gift  of  earth,"  he  added,  philo- 
sophically— "  rather  cumbersome  and  difl5cult 
to  dispose  of.  What  shall  I  do  with  it.  Miss 
Trefalden  ?  It  is  rather  large  for  my  button- 
hole, don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  candidly  say  that  I  do. 
Suppose  you  give  it  to  me  if  you  are  tired  of 
it.     It  will  do  for  my  hair." 

"  I  will  give  it  on  one  condition." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  That  I  may  claim  it  again  after  you  have 
worn  it." 

"  There  must  certainly  be  something  very 
light  about  me,"  thought  poor  Helen.  "  Here 
is  another  man  trying  to  amuse  himself  by 
paying  me  foolish  compliments."  Said  she 
aloud,  with  very  graceful  dignity,  "  I'm  afraid 
you  forget  how  many  other  lilies  there  are 
near  at  hand,  Mr.  Latimer." 

"  For  yourself,  or  for  me  ?  " 

"  For  either  or  both.  For  me,  that  I  may 
be  quite  independent  of  such  an  arbitrary 
condition — for  you,  that  you  may  appreciate 
how  much  better  fresh  lilies  are  than  faded 
ones." 

"Suppose  I  have  a  fancy  to  prefer  a  faded 
one  ?  " 

"  I  decline  to  suppose  any  thing  of  the 
kind.  You  won't  force  me  to  the  conclusion 
that  you  are  a  very  foolish  person,  and  that 
would  be  foolish,  you  know." 

"  Genius  has  its  eccentricities,"  said  Lati- 
mer, gravely.  "  Only  shallow  minds  call  them 
folly,  and  I'm  sure  you  won't  force  me  to 
the  conclusion  that  you  have  a  shallow 
mind." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  do  so,  certain- 
ly," said  Helen,  laughing. 

In  this  manner  they  broke  the  ice,  and 
advanced  toward  acquaintance.  From  the 
first,  there  was  an  attraction  between  them — 
a  bond  of  sympathy,  which,  in  the  matter  of 
friendship,  is  worth  every  thing  else  in  the 
■world  put  together.  It  was  not  so  much 
Helen's  rare  beauty  that  struck  Latimer,  as 
the  sweet,  gracious  charm  of  a  character 
which  was  in  truth  one  of  the  most  thorough- 
ly sympathetic  that  he  had  ever  encountered. 


He  was  a  man  of  keen  observation — a  man 
who  could  read  volumes  where  another  would 
not  decipher  a  line — but  it  was  not  so  much 
observation  as  a  certain  instinct  which  drew 
him  toward  this  girl — this  fair,  stainless  lily, 
whom  Henry  Trefalden  had  once  possessed, 
and  cast  aside  for  a  pretty  French  rose  of  the 
finest  artificial  make. 

"  Here  is  our  best  view,"  said  Helen,  paus- 
ing at  an  angle  of  the  terrace  which  over- 
looked the  rolling  country  for  a  mile  or  two 
around.  "  It  is  almost  too  late  to  see  it  now ; 
but,  in  daylight — " 

"  In  daylight  it  must  be  lovely,"  said  Lat- 
imer, who  could  barely  see  three  yards  be- 
fore him.  "  We  will  certainly  come  out  here 
to-morrow  and  enjoy  it.  Then  we  can — I  beg 
pardon  "  (as  a  fan  lightly  tapped  his  arm) — 
"  is  that  you,  Miss  Cheriton  ?  " 

"  Don't  beg  pardon  for  not  seeing  me," 
said  a  silvery  voice,  which  made  Helen  start 
in  turn.  "  When  two  people  are  so  well  en- 
tertained, they  don't,  as  a  general  rule,  see 
anybody  but  themselves.  Did  I  hear  you 
really  professing  to  admire  the  scenery  ?  " 

"  I  usually  admire  as  much  of  it  as  I  can 
see — which  is  not  very  much,"  said  he.  "We 
can  afford  to  be  incredulous  of  beauties  that 
we  have  never  seen." 

"And  of  some  which  we  do  see — is  it  not 
so  ?  I  don't  mean  any  thing  disrespectful  to 
the  country,  but  I  frankly  confess  that  I  much 
prefer  animate  to  inanimate  creation — men 
and  women  to  trees  and  stones. — Miss  Tre- 
falden, you  look  quite  shocked.  If  we  are  to 
get  on  at  all,  I  must  give  you  warning  that 
my  education  has  been  of  the  most  frivolous 
kind.  I  am  not  superior  a  bit — am  I,  Mr. 
Latimer?  I  don't  care  for  any  thing  in  the 
world  except  the  German  and  flirtation — do  I, 
Mr.  Trefalden  ?  " 

Said  Mr.  Latimer:  "When  a  lady  abuses 
herself,  it  is  a  fixed  article  of  my  creed  never 
to  contradict  her." 

Said  Trefalden  :  "  Miss  Cheriton  can  alTord 
to  begin  an  acquaintance  by  attempting  to 
depreciate  herself."  Then,  in  a  lower  and 
more  sentimental  tone,  "  You  care  for  a  few 
things  in  the  world  besides  the  German  and 
flirtation,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yourself  being  one,  of  course,"  said  she, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Pray  don't  be  too  sure  of 
that — too  much  confidence  is  always  unwise. 
— But  Miss  Trefalden  does  not  say  a  word.  I 
think  I  have  certainly  shocked  her." 


MISS  CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


71 


*'  Does  candor  ever  shock  us  ?  "  asked 
Helen.     "  Don't  we  rather  admire  it  ?  " 

"  When  it  suits  us — perhaps  so.  Gener- 
ally, however,  it  is  very  disagreeable.  If  Mr. 
Latimer,  for  example,  were  to  tell  me  at  this 
moment  what  he  thinks  of  me,  I  am  sure  I 
should  find  it  very  disagreeable." 

"  May  I  test  that,  Miss  Cheriton  ?  " 

"  Oh,  pray  do — your  opinion  is  always  so 
improving.  Not  in  public,  though  "  (quite 
hastily).  "  I  can  depreciate  myself,  but  I 
will  not  allow  any  one  else  to  depreciate  me 
— when  I  can  help  it.  We  will  walk  back  to 
the  house,  and  you  shall  give  me  your  dose 
of  candor  on  the  way." 

"Suppose  we  defer  it  until  we  are  in  the 
house,"  said  Latimer,  who  saw  her  drift  very 
plainly,  and  had  no  fancy  to  abandon  Helen 
for  any  thing  so  hackneyed  as  a  flirtation  with 
Miss  Cheriton. 

"  That  means  that  you  are  anxious  to  de- 
fer it  indefinitely.  Will  the  opinion  be  so  very 
severe  that  you  are  afraid  I  cannot  bear  it?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  way  to  answer  that 
question." 

"By  letting  me  hear  it,  of  course.  May  I 
take  your  arm  ?  Harry  and  Miss  Trefalden 
will  excuse  us,  I  am  sure." 

Thus  unceremoniously  left  behind,  Helen 
felt  amused,  and  Trefalden  not  half  so  indig- 
nant as  might  perhaps  be  imagined.  Louise 
was  very  charming,  of  course,  and  he  was  ex- 
tremely fond  of  her;  but  there  was  no  deny- 
ing the  fact  that  she  was  not  half  as  pretty 
as  Helen,  nor — really — half  so  attractive.  So 
he  placed  Helen's  hand  within  his  arm,  took 
up  the  thread  of  conversation  exactly  where 
he  had  dropped  it  the  evening  before,  and 
made  the  path  to  the  house  even  longer  than 
Miss  Cheriton  succeeded  in  doing. 

Of  this  fact  they  had  conclusive  evidence 
as  they  neared  the  drawing-room,  from  which 
that  young  lady's  voice  floated  out  on  the 
still  night-air.  She  was  singing  to  a  harp- 
accompaniment,  and,  stopping  at  the  window, 
Helen  said,  in  genuine  admiration,  "  How  beau- 
tiful she  looks  I" 

She  certainly  looked,  if  not  beautiful,  at 
least  next  thing  to  it ;  for  where  does  a  pretty 
woman  appear  to  half  so  much  advantage  as 
at  the  most  graceful  instrument  which  the 
science  of  harmony  has  ever  given  us  ?  With 
her  white  arms  thrown  across  the  golden 
strings,  and  her  face  lifted  toward  Latimer, 
so  as  to  show  off  its  brilliant  complexion,  its 


large,  blue  eyes,  and  bright,  brown  hair,  if 
Miss  Cheriton  was  not  exactly  a  sight  to 
make  an  old  man  young,  she  was  at  least  a 
sight  to  turn  a  young  man's  head ;  and  of 
this  fact  she  was  completely  and  triumphantly 
conscious. 

"  Yes,  she  is  extremely  pretty,"  said  Tre- 
falden ;  but  he  said  it  rather  coldly.  "  I  don't 
like  flirts,  though ;  and  Louise  is  a  dreadful 
flirt." 

"  I  fancy  it  is  a  case  of  Greek  meeting 
Greek,  with  herself  and  Mr.  Latimer,"  said 
Helen,  laughing. 

"  Latimer !  Oh  !  Latimer  is  a  professional 
lady-killer.  You  must  take  care  how  you  re- 
ceive his  attentions,  my  dear  Helen"  (this  in 
a  tender  tone  of  brotherly  care).  "I  should 
not  like  him  to  be  able  to  say  that  he  had 
ever  flirted  with  you." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  the  least  proba- 
bility of  his  being  able  to  say  so,"  answered 
Helen,  coolly.  "  There !  Miss  Cheriton  is 
calling  you.     Had  you  not  better  go  ?  " 

Miss  Cheriton  had,  indeed,  perceived  her 
vassal,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  recall  him  to  a 
due  sense  of  his  allegiance. 

"  Yonder's  poor  Harry,  sulking,"  she  said, 
in  a  confidential  tone,  to  Latimer.  And,  not- 
withstanding that  there  was  no  trace  of  sulk- 
ing in  poor  Harry's  appearance,  she  thought 
it  necessary  to  add:  "I  must  call  him,  and 
mollify  him ;  but,  pray,  don't  you  go." 

So  Trefalden  was  called  and  mollified. 
Where  had  he  been  all  this  time  ?  They  had 
reached  the  house  ever  so  long  before  !  Miss 
Trefalden  was  very  charming,  and  flirting  was 
very  nice,  of  course ;  but  it  wasn't  very  prop- 
er— was  it,  Mr.  Latimer  ? 

Mr.  Latimer  replied  that,  in  his  humble 
opinion,  it  was  a  highly  moral  amusement, 
but  he  would  not  presume  to  contradict  such 
high  authority  on  the  subject  as  Miss  Cheriton 
was  well  known  to  be. 

Mr,  Trefalden  protested  against  such  a 
word  being  applied  to  his  cousin  and  himself. 
They  were  like  brother  and  sister  ;  they  had 
known  each  other  from  their  earliest  child- 
hood. 

"  Oh,  I  quite  understand  that  kind  of 
thing!"  said  Miss  Cheriton,  gayly.  "I  had 
a  cousin  once — a  dear,  adorable  fellow — and, 
when  anybody  said  any  thing  of  a  disagree- 
able nature,  I  always  answered :  '  What !  Al- 
fred ?  How  absurd  !  Why,  I've  known  Al- 
fred all  my  life.' " 


72 


MISS   CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


argument 


had  a  silencing  ef- 


see,  I  can  appre- 


"  And  that 
feet,  I  presume  ?  " 

"Invariably.     So,  you 
ciate  the  full  force  of  it." 

Helen,  meanwhile,  entered,  and  looked 
round  for  Raf'e.  She  thought  he  had  made 
his  escape,  until  she  heard  him  call  her  name 
from  the  back  drawing-room,  where  the  light 
was  dim.  Following  the  sound,  she  found 
him  lying  on  a  couch  near  the  arch  which 
divided  the  apartments. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  dear  ?  "  she 
asked.     "  Don't  you  find  it  dull  ?  " 

"  How  could  it  possibly  be  dull  with  such 
admirable  opportunity  for  observing  human 
nature  ?  "  asked  he.  "  Sit  down,  Helen.  That 
scene  at  the  harp  is  worth  studying,  I  assure 
you.  I  am  anxious  to  see  how  long  Miss 
Cheriton  will  succeed  in  keeping  both  objects 
of  her  game  under  her  hand  and  in  full 
view." 

"  As  long  as  she  pleases,  I  suppose,"  said 
Helen.  "  No  doubt,  they  are  both  anxious  to 
stay." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Rafe,  "  I  have  my  own 
opinion  on  that  score.  However,  we  shall 
see." 

In  less  than  five  minute?  they  saw  Lati- 
mer leave  the  harp,  and  saunter  up  to  his 
hostess.  Ten  minutes  were  given  to  the  de- 
mands of  courtesy.  Then,  by  deliberate 
degrees,  he  neared  the  arch  where  Helen 
and  Rafe  were  sitting. 

"  How  delightfully  sheltered  you  are  I  " 
he  said.     "  May  I  share  your  retreat  ?  " 

"  We  are  Arabian  in  our  hospitality,"  re- 
sponded Rafe,  smiling.  Then,  aside  to  Helen : 
"  The  question  is,  how  long  will  he  be  allowed 
to  stay?" 

That  question  was  settled  almost  as  soon 
as  the  other.  One  swift  glance  of  Miss  Cheri- 
ton's  eyes  took  in  the  state  of  affairs.  Be- 
fore very  long,  her  voice  sounded  a  recall. 

"  Mr.  Latimer,  where  have  you  vanished 
to  ? — Aunty  dear,  do  you  know  where  Mr. 
Latimer  is? — Oh"  (with  the  most  innocent 
face  imaginable),  "  there  you  are !  I  beg  a 
thousand  pardons;  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so 
pleasantly  engaged.  I  was  only  going  to  say 
I  would  sing  your  song  for  you  now  ;  but,  of 
course,  it  does  not  matter." 

Of  course,  Latimer  was  in  duty  bound  to 
rise  and  go  to  the  harp,  to  bend  over  it  and 
to  listen,  while  his  song  was  sung  with  glances 
that  might  have  melted  a  heart  of  stone.     Of 


course,  Trefalden  did  not  find  this  very  sooth- 
ing to  his  feelings  ;  so,  with  something  of  gen- 
uine indignation  this  time,  he,  in  turn,  sought 
Helen.  Of  course,  in  due  season,  Miss  Cheri- 
ton was  graciously  pleased  to  recall  him  ;  and 
so  the  game  went  on,  shifting  its  combina- 
tions, to  Rafe's  infinite  entertainment.  When 
Helen  bade  him  good-night,  she  could  not 
help  asking  what  he  thought  of  his  future 
sister-in-law;  and  his  answer  amused  her  a 
little,  for  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  quoted  two  lines  from  a  ballad  over  which 
they  had  often  laughed  : 

"'He  Baid  I  kept  him  off  and  on  in  hopes  of 
higher  game, 
And  it  may  be  that  I  did,  mother;  hut  who 
hasn't  done  the  same  ? '  " 


III. 

During  the  next  day  Helen  began  to  feel 
a  little  puzzled,  and  somewhat  dismayed,  with 
regard  to  Miss  Cheriton.  What  she  had  ex- 
pected in  Harry's  fiancee,  she  would  have 
found  it  difficult  to  define ;  but,  at  least,  it 
was  certain  that  this  young  lady,  so  full  of 
vivacity  in  masculine  and  so  listless  in  femi- 
nine society — this  young  lady  who,  engaged 
to  one  man,  was  jealously  anxious  to  secure 
the  attentions  of  another — did  not  in  any  re- 
spect correspond  with  her  shadowy  idea.  In 
fact,  she  was  a  new  revelation  to  the  girl 
whose  life  had  been  formed  on  such  a  very 
different  model.  A  certain  monotonous  round 
of  duties  had  made  the  occupation  of  Helen's 
existence ;  and  her  walks,  her  flowers,  her 
studies,  and  Rafe,  its  amusements.  Was  it 
singular,  therefore,  that  she  listened  with  sur- 
prise to  the  record  of  a  life  made  up  of  vis- 
its, balls,  regattas,  admirers,  dresses — all  the 
liglit  froth  of  that  lightest  kind  of  society 
which  calls  itself  "  the  fashionable  world  ?  " 
On  her  side.  Miss  Cheriton  was,  if  any  thing, 
more  astonished.  That  any  one  could  really 
support  an  existence  like  that  of  Helen  was 
beyond  her  powers  of  imagination.  The 
two  women  looked  at  each  other  across  a 
gulf  which  they  had  no  means  of  spanning. 
There  was  no  middle  ground,  no  neutral  ter- 
ritory of  taste  or  knowledge,  on  which  they 
could  meet;  and  such  a  neutral  ground  is 
essential,  not  only  to  friendship,  but  to  any 
thing  like  cordial  acquaintance.  They  were 
both  young ;  they  were  both  pretty ;  and  they 
were  as  different  as  the  opposite  poles  !  The 
only  thing  they  owned  in  common  was  a  eer- 


MISS  CnERITON'S  RIVAL. 


73 


tain  feeling  of  antagonism,  of  which  Helen 
was  conscious  in  a  slight  and  Miss  Chei'iton 
in  a  very  marked  degree. 

Other  days  wore  not  much  better  than 
this  day ;  that  is,  there  was  not  much  more 
of  a  friendly  understanding  between  the  two 
women  whom  malicious  Fate  had  chosen  to 
array  against  each  other  as  rivals.  It  was  a 
queer  game  of  cross-purposes  which  went  on 
at  the  Manor  during  this  time.  Kafe,  who 
was  a  quiet  looker-on,  perhaps  understood 
more  of  its  drift  and  purpose  than  any  one 
else  —  either  then  or  afterward.  lie  hud 
something  of  an  interest  in  watching  it,  too, 
besides  his  interest  in  Helen ;  for  he  soon 
grew  to  like  Latimer  with  a  very  cordial  lik- 
ing, and  observation  less  keen  than  his  might 
readily  have  perceived  that  to  this  eager,  am- 
bitious man,  this  man  crowned  with  the 
world's  honors,  and  panting  for  the  world's 
applause,  the  world  itself  began  to  narrow 
down  into  that  spot  which  was  brightened  by 
the  light  of  Helen  Trefalden's  eyes.  It  is 
said  that  such  an  hour  comes  once  at  least  in 
every  man's  life.  Whether  this  be  true  or 
not,  the  hour  certainly  came  to  Latimer  now. 
Indeed,  it  is  doubtful  if  he  had  ever  before 
known  any  thing  more  than  transient  fancies ; 
so,  when  the  flood-gates  were  lifted  at  last, 
and  a  passion  stronger  and  deeper  for  the 
long  delay  rushed  in  upon  him,  his  profound 
worldly  training  stood  him  in  little  stead, 
and  he  knew  scarcely  more  than  the  merest 
boy  what  were  the  chances  for  and  against 
him  with  the  woman  whom,  alone  of  all  the 
women  he  had  ever  seen,  he  desired  and  re- 
solved to  call  his  own. 

Alas  !  the  verdict  against  him  was  a  short 
one — he  came  too  late  !  There  are  some  na- 
tures—  fortunately  very  rare  ones  —  which, 
having  once  given  affection,  are  wholly  unable 
to  recall  it,  however  cruelly  it  may  be  wasted, 
however  thoroughly  trust  may  fail.  Helen's 
was  one  of  these.  Hers  was  a  heart  so  gen- 
tle, so  loving,  so  faithful  even  unto  death, 
that  it  merited  a  better  fate  than  the  one 
which  had  befallen  it.  This  heart,  which 
some  men  would  have  died  to  win,  or  would 
have  worn  like  a  diamond  on  the  breast  which 
had  won  it,  this  heart  had  been  given  to  one 
man  who  held  it  lightly  in  his  hand  till  he 
wearied  of  it,  and  then  flung  it  down  in  the 
dust  of  the  roadside,  from  which  not  even  he 
could  ever  lift  it  again.  Eafe  alone  appre- 
ciated this,  and  groaned  to  himself  as  he  per- 


ceived that  the  power  which  should  have 
made  the  glory  and  happiness  of  his  cousin's 
life — her  indomitable  constancy — was  like  a 
sharp  sword  turned  against  herself.  It  would 
have  wrecked  his  existence  to  have  parted 
with  her,  he  thought,  but  still  he  could  have 
done  it,  he  could  have  given  her  to  Latimer, 
who  was  worthy  of  her,  Latimer  on  whom 
every  man's  eye  was  turned  in  envy,  and 
every  woman's  in  admiration  ;  and  the  bitter- 
ness lay  in  thinking  that  this  which  could 
never  be,  might  have  been,  but  for  a  frivo- 
lous, empty  puppy  (so  Rafe  did  not  hesitate  to 
designate  his  brother),  with  neither  heart  nor 
soul  worthy  of  the  name. 

It  was  small  consolation  to  perceive  how 
constant  and  unremitting  were  Miss  Cheri- 
ton's  exertions  to  attach  Latimer  to  her  char- 
iot-wheels, and  how  completely  they  failed  ! 
This  was  not  only  because  a  stronger  and  a 
deeper  power  was  at  work  with  him.  Under 
any  circumstances,  her  blandishments  were 
too  transparent,  her  arts  were  too  common- 
place, her  object  was  too  plain,  for  any  hope 
of  success.  Latimer  merely  laughed  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  amused  himself  a  lit- 
tle— not  enough  to  give  occasion  for  any  seri- 
ous triumph — and  let  the  battery  of  fascina- 
tion play  harmlessly  on  his  coat-of-maii.  She 
was  a  pretty  woman,  he  told  Rafe,  but  pretty 
women  were  common,  and,  for  his  part,  he 
had  been  surfeited  with  them  in  the  way  of 
flirtation.  "  Miss  Cheriton  has  not  even  the 
merit  of  being  a  first-class  coquette,"  be  add- 
ed. "  She  goes  over  the  beaten  path,  and 
knows  only  the  most  hackneyed  arts  of  her 
profession."  Miss  Cheriton,  however,  did 
not  despair.  She  had  that  regal  trust  in  her- 
self, and  in  her  own  power  of  achieving  any 
thing,  which  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  charac- 
teristics of  genius.  She  had  long  looked  upon 
Latimer  with  covetous  eyes,  and  a  better  op- 
portunity than  the  present  her  heart  could  not 
have  desired.  A  country-house,  with  unlimit- 
ed opportunities  for  fascination,  the  field  all 
to  herself,  and  her  only  rival  a  girl  who  had 
never  been  in  society — what  more  was  it  pos- 
sible to  ask  ?  True,  success  did  not  crown 
her  efforts  quite  as  rapidly  as  she  expected. 
But  she  had  time  and  strategy  at  command, 
so  she  did  what  many  an  abler  general  has 
found  himself  obliged  to  do — she  waited. 

Meanwhile,  Trefalden — animated  by  Lati- 
mer's example  —  was  veering  nearer  and 
nearer  to  his  cousin,  his  fickle  fancy  wander- 


74 


MISS   CHERITON'S   RIVAL. 


ing  daily  farther  and  farther  from  the  place 
where  it  was,  or  should  have  been,  bound  by 
his  honor.  Some  men  do  not  appreciate  any 
thing — be  it  wife,  or  horse,  or  house,  or  jew- 
els— until  it  bears  the  stamp  of  other  admira- 
tion besides  their  own  ;  and  Trefalden  was  es- 
pecially of  this  class.  Helen's  beauty  had 
very  nearly  taken  his  heart  (or  whatever  did 
duty  for  that  organ)  by  storm,  when  he  saw 
her  on  the  terrace  under  the  roses.  But 
even  then  she  had  only  been  to  him  his 
cousin,  tlie  "  little  Helen  "  whom  he  had  pet- 
ted and  patronized  in  boyhood.  Kow  all  this 
was  changed.  Now  he  saw  a  woman  at  whom 
he  looked  with  Latimer's  eyes,  admired  with 
Latimer's  admiration,  wellnigh  loved  with 
Latimer's  love — only  Latimer's  was  the  real 
article,  and  his  the  spurious  imitation.  He 
entertained  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  Louise 
was  playing  fast  and  loose  with  him,  and  he 
would  not  have  had  the  least  scruple  in  play- 
ing fast  and  loose  with  her  in  return.  If 
Helen  bore  the  least  liking  to  him,  she  had 
only  to  give  a  sign.  He,  for  his  part,  was  the 
more  ready  to  meet  her  half-way. 

"  What  a  glorious  night ! "  said  Latimer, 
one  evening,  as  he  stepped  through  the  din- 
ing-room window  out  on  the  terrace,  where 
the  silver  radiance  of  the  full  moon  made  al- 
most the  brightness,  without  any  of  the  heat, 
of  day.  '*  Isn't  it  possible  to  do  something 
more  than  merely  enjoy  it  here?  Can't  we 
go  to  the  river  and  take  a  row  ?  " 

"  Charming ! "  cried  Miss  Cheriton,  who 
was  close  behind  him.  "  Of  course  we  can — 
can't  we,  Harry  ?  I  should  like  nothing  bet- 
ter." 

"  I  see  no  objection,"  said  Harry.  "  The 
boat  is  in  order,  I  suppose  —  is  it  not, 
Helen?" 

"  Yes,  the  boat  is  in  very  good  order,"  an- 
swered Helen ;  "  at  least  it  was  on  Saturday 
morning  when  Mr.  Latimer  and  myself — " 
she  paused  a  moment,  as  Miss  Cheriton's  eyes 
turned  quickly  upon  her,  then  quietly  went 
on — "when  Mr.  Latimer  and  myself  took  a 
short  row." 

"  So  rowing  is  one  of  the  features  of  your 
walks  with  Mr.  Latimer  ?"  said  Miss  Cheri- 
ton, a  little  sharply.  "It  is  fortunate  that 
you  were  careful  not  to  say  any  thing  about 
it,  or  you  might  have  had  an  addition  to  your 
party,  and  that  would  not  have  been  pleasant 
—would  it?"' 

"  Wo  are  plainly  expected  to  say  Xo,  Miss 


Trefalden.  Suppose  we  say  it?  I  always 
like  to  do  what  is  expected  of  me." 

"Especially  when  it  is  entirely  compatible 
with  the  strictest  truth,"  retorted  the  young 
lady.  "  Of  course.  Miss  Trefalden  would  say 
Xo  if  she  was  as  candid  as  yourself.  Pray, 
don't  be  afraid,  however.  We  will  be  consid- 
erate  enough  to  do  our  rowing  by  moonlight, 
so  as  not  to  interfere  with  yours  by  day- 
light." 

"  There  are  two  boats  on  the  river,"  said 
Latimer,  with  the  utmost  gravity.  "  If  Harry 
and  yourself  choose  to  follow  our  example  to- 
morrow, we  will  give  you  the  full  benefit  and 
free  use  of  the  stream." 

"  Thanks,  for  myself,"  said  Harry,  indo- 
lently; "but  I  believe  I  prefer  to  take  the 
full  benefit  and  free  use  of  it  to-night. — Helen, 
shall  we  leave  them  to  finish  their  discussion 
at  their  leisure  ?  " 

Helen  assented  ;  but,  for  once.  Miss  Cher- 
iton seemed  disposed  to  assert  a  claim  to  her 
vassal.  "  There  is  no  discussion  to  be  fin- 
ished," said  she,  hastily.  "  Don't  be  so  incon- 
siderate as  to  carry  off  Miss  Trefalden,  Harry. 
I  am  coming  with  you ;  but,  if  I  go  without 
my  scarf,  my  dear,  foolish  aunt  will  preach 
about  it  for  the  next  month.  Wait  for  me  a 
moment." 

She  went  into  the  house ;  but  Harry  proved 
singularly  disobedient  to  orders.  "  You  can 
wait  for  her,  Latimer,"  he  said.  "  Helen  and 
I  will  walk  on  slowly,  and,  no  doubt,  you  will 
overtake  us  before  we  reach  the  river." 

Helen  and  himself  walked  on  slowly — who 
does  not  walk  slowly  on  a  moonlight  summer 
night  ? — but  the  result  which  was  to  follow 
did  not  come  to  pass.  Mr.  Latimer  and  Miss 
Cheriton  did  not  overtake  them  before  they 
reached  the  river ;  nor,  in  fact,  after  they  had 
done  so.  Helen  negatived  Harry's  proposal 
of  going  on  the  water  immediately,  and  in- 
sisted on  waiting  for  the  others ;  but  waiting 
was  in  vain.  They  did  not  come.  And,  after 
nearly  an  hour  had  passed,  the  inference  was 
plain  that  they  did  not  mean  to  come. 

"  We  had  better  go  back,"  said  Helen, 
gravely,  for  she  stood  in  considerable  awe  of 
Miss  Cheriton's  mocking  tongue.  "  Some- 
thing must  have  occurred  to  detain  them, 
Harry." 

"  Some  fit  of  Louise's  caprice  has  occurred 
to  detain  them,"  said  Harry.  "  Nothing  else, 
I  am  sure.  She  grows  more  wilful  and  ca- 
pricious every  day,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of 


MISS  CHERITON'S    RIVAL. 


75 


very  unlovcrlike  irritation.  "We  need  not 
let  her  spoil  our  pleasure,  Helen.  Since  we 
have  walked  down  here,  we  must  certainly 
have  a  row." 

"  I  really  think  we  had  better  go  back," 
said  Helen.  She  did  not  like  to  say  "we 
must,"  for  was  not  this  Harry,  and  did  it  not 
■seem  absurd  to  think  that  it  could  possibly 
be  "not  proper"  to  go  anywhere  with  him? 
Yet  an  instinct  warned  her  against  the  pleas- 
ure which  was  as  much  a  temptation  to  her- 
self as  to  him,  and  she  rose  and  turned  away 
from  the  river  as  she  repeated,  for  the  fourth 
time,  "  We  had  better  go  back." 

"Xonsense!"  said  Harry.  "Here  is  the 
boat— come !  I  assure  you  I  am  not  going 
back." 

"  But,  Harry—" 

"  Come  ! "  said  Harry. 

He  sprang  into  the  boat  as  he  spoke,  and 
pushed  it  near  the  shore,  then  turned  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  assist  her  into  it.  The  great, 
broad  river,  with  the  moonlight  silvering  its 
current,  flowed  majestically  by;  the  drooping 
Bhade,  that  fringed  its  banks,  looked  dark  and 
mysterious ;  the  little  boat  rocked  on  the 
water  as  Trefalden  leaned  forward,  and  Helen 
stood  on  the  bank — hesitating,  longing — un- 
able to  stay,  yet  certain  that  it  was  unwise  to 
go.  For  a  moment  the  soft  rush  of  the  river 
was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the  stillness. 
Then— 

"  Helen,"  said  Trefalden,  in  atone  strange- 
ly  earnest,  "won't  you  come?  Why  should 
you  hesitate  ?  Remember  how  often  we  have 
been  here  before." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Helen,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Then  why  should  you  hesitate  now  ? 
Helen"  —  pleadingly  —  "give  me  one  happy 
hour — one  hour  like  the  dear  old  times.  It 
is  little  to  you,  it  is  much  to  me — come  !  " 

Poor  Helen  !  Can  any  one  blame  her  that 
she  went  ?  It  seemed  so  little,  and  yet — it 
was  so  much  !  Why  should  she  not  taste  the 
happy  hour  of  which  he  spoke,  and  dream  one 
last  dream  of  the  old  time  before  she  put  its 
memory  from  her  forever?  It  seemed  so  lit- 
tle, and  Harry  was  only  Harry,  after  all ;  her 
cousin,  almost  her  brother,  by  right  of  long 
companionship.  So  she  laid  her  hand  in  the 
one  outstretched  for  it,  stepped  into  the  boat, 
and  a  moment  later  the  oars  had  been  plunged 
into  the  water,  and  they  were  gliding  down 
the  stream. 

It  was  a  night  of  which  to  dream — soft. 


magical,  almost  unearthly  in  its  beauty.  For 
a  long  time  they  were  both  silent ;  then  Tre- 
falden looked  at  his  companion,  who  sat  op- 
posite him,  and  spoke  quite  abruptly. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  wish,  Helen? — 
what  I  would  at  this  moment  give  any  thing 
in  the  world  to  accomplish?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  "  asked  Helen.  She 
did  not  look  at  him,  but  kept  her  eyes  fixed 
dreamily  on  the  shore  past  which  they  were 
gliding. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Trefalden,  with  passionate 
emphasis,  "  that  you  and  I  were  cut  off  from 
every  other  human  being,  and  drifting  toward 
a  home  and  a  life  of  our  own,  far  from  any- 
body and  everybody  else  of  whom  we  know." 

Helen  started.  There  was  that  in  the 
speaker's  tone  which  was  more  than  his 
words,  and  which  warned  her  instantly  that 
she  had  been  unwise  to  come.  Something 
made  a  great  leap  into  her  throat  and  fright- 
ened her.  It  was  the  very  consciousness  of 
her  own  weakness  which  gave  her  strength  to 
answer. 

"  How  absurd,  Harry  !  "  she  said — trying, 
ah !  so  hard  to  speak  lightly — "  we  are  as 
much  cut  off  at  present  as  you  could  possi- 
bly desire.  There  is  not  the  least  need  to 
wish  for  a  desert  island  in  which  we  could 
sigh  for  company  and  civilization  to  our 
hearts'  content." 

"  Don't  jest,"  said  Trefalden,  in  a  tone  of 
absolute  pain.  "Don't  —  don't  try  to  ward 
off  serious  truth  like  this,  Helen !  You  know 
what  I  mean,"  he  said,  with  sudden  passion ; 
"  you  don't  need  for  me  to  tell  you  how  much 
I  love  you  !  you  must  believe  it,  for  you  must 
see  how  it  has  mastered  every  thought  and 
faculty  of  my  whole  being,  until  silence  is 
beyond  my  power !" 

"  Harry,"  said  Helen,  gravely — and  some- 
thing in  her  tone  reminded  him  of  the  manner 
in  which  she  had  often  curbed  his  wayward 
humors  as  a  boy — "  Harry,  it  is  not  possible 
you  mean  to  make  me  regret  having  trusted 
myself  with  you  ?  What  is  the  sense  of  such 
wild  words  as  these?  I  am  loath  to  think 
that  you  would  willingly  wrong  or  pain  me, 
yet  you  are  doing  both  now." 

"  Can  I  wrong  or  pain  you  by  telling  you 
how  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  and  a  flasli  of  very 
unusual  resentment  came  into  her  eyes. 
"You  do  both,  when  you  use  such  words  to 
me  !     Do  you  think  I  am  a  toy  to  serve  your 


7G 


MISS   CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


amusement  ?  "  she  askeJ,  with  a  vibration 
of  passion  deeper  even  than  his  own,  stirring 
through  her  voice.  "  You  are  engaged  to 
Miss  Cheriton,  and  yet  you  venture  to  tell 
me  that  you  love  me.  What  am  I  to  think 
of  you  after  that?" 

*'  To  think  that  Miss  Cheriton  is  nothing 
to  me,  and  that  you  are  everything,"  said  he, 
recklessly.  "  I  fling  her,  and  every  thought 
of  her,  to  the  winds.  I  am  yours,  Helen,  and 
it  is  for  you  to  say  what  you  will  do  with 
me." 

"  And  your  honor  ?  "  asked  Helen,  bitterly, 
"  where  is  that  ?  " 

Even  in  the  moonlight  she  could  see  that 
a  dark  flush  came  over  his  face.  ^ 

"  My  honor  is  safe  in  my  own  keeping," 
he  said,  haughtily.  "I  break  no  f\iith  in 
breaking  with  a  woman  like  Louise  Cheriton. 
She  means  to  marry  me  only  in  case  she  can- 
not secure  higher  game.  You  see  what  she 
is,  Helen.  You  cannot  blame  me  that  I  put 
her  out  of  my  life  without  even  a  consider- 
ation." 

"  But  I  do  blame  you,"  said  Helen,  coldly. 
'*  "What  is  more,  I  do  not  believe  that  a  Tre- 
falden  can  forget  that  a  gentleman  owes  it  to 
himself  to  keep  his  faith  unbroken.  You  are 
talking  wildly,  Harry — you  are  not  yourself. 
Let  ug  try  and  forget  this." 

"  You  are  talking  the  foolish  common- 
places of  a  woman,"  said  Harry,  impatiently. 
"  Forget  it !  A  man  does  not  forget  what  is 
written  on  his  heart  in  letters  of  fire !  Helen, 
you  must  forgive  me  if  I  speak  plainly  — 
this  is  no  time  for  paltering ;  and,  one  way 
or  another,  my  fate  must  be  fixed  to-night. 
Memories  which  I  had  forgotten,  or  carelessly 
laid  aside,  have  come  to  me  of  late,  and  I — 
I  think  that  perhaps  two  years  ago,  you  loved 
me.  If  so,  all  this  has  come  on  me  as  a  pun- 
ishment for  my  own  blind  folly.  Helen,  was 
it  so?" 

There  was  a  deep  silence.  How  could 
Helen  put  herself  in  this  man's  power  by 
acknowledging  what  she  had  hidden  so  care- 
fully from  every  one  save  Rafe,  and  yet — 
how  could  she  deny  the  truth  when  brought 
face  to  face  with  it  ?  Such  denial  would  have 
been  easy  to  some  women,  but  it  was  not 
easy  to  her.  Truth  was,  and  had  always  been, 
to  her  a  grand,  severe  power,  with  which  it 
was  impossible  to  trifle.  Her  face  was  so  pale 
that  it  looked  like  sculptured  marble  in  the 
moonlight  as  she  answered : 


"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  that  ques- 
tion." 

"  I  have  a  right,"  said  Trefalden,  vehe- 
mently, "or  else,  by  Heaven!  I  will  make 
one  !  Helen  "  —  he  dropped  the  oar,  and 
seized  her  fragile,  passive  hands  —  "  you 
would  not  evade  the  point  if  you  could  deny 
it.  You  did  love  me,  and,  by  that  love,  I 
claim  you.  My  first  duty  is  to  you — was  to 
you,  when  I  forsook  you  for  that  vain,  frivo- 
lous— " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Helen  ;  and,  by  a  supreme 
effort,  she  wrenched  her  hands  out  of  his 
clasp,  and  looked  at  him  in  the  silvery  moon- 
light with  a  face  that  was  set  and  stern.  "  You 
lower  yourself  even  more  than  you  lower  me 
by  such  words  as  these  !  I  will  not  listen  to 
them.  Turn  the  boat  around,  and  take  me 
back  to  the  shore.     I  demand  it." 

"  It  shall  drift  on  forever  before  I  turn 
back,  unless  I  hear  the  truth,"  answered  he. 
"  Helen,  you  do  right  to  resent  the  love  of  a 
man  who  is  as  fickle  as  I  have  been.  But 
try  to  remember — try  to  be  reasonable — think 
that  I  was  little  more  than  a  boy  when  I 
left  here,  that  I  went  into  the  world  with  a 
head  and  a  heart  equally  ready  to  be  turned 
by  its  follies,  and  that  I  was  sufficiently  un- 
worthy of  you  to  suffer  the  remembrance  of 
you  to  pass  from  me ;  but,  in  thinking  of  this, 
that  I  come  back  from  the  world  only  to  real- 
ize what  you  are,  only  to  see  and  feel  how 
mad  I  have  been  in  leaving  gold  for  dross, 
and  to  place  my  heart  again  wbere  it  was 
long  ago — where,  in  truth,  I  think  it  Las  al- 
ways been — in  your  keeping.  Helen,  surely 
it  is  not  too  late  ?  " 

The  passion  of  this  appeal  seemed  to 
shake  her,  for  she  shivered  all  over,  then 
clasped  her  hands  firmly  together,  and  an- 
swered him  gravely  and  sadly  : 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  late." 

"  Too  late ! "  The  handsome  face  paled — 
flushed — and  paled  again.  "  You  mean  that 
you  have  ceased  to  love  me,  or  that  you  have 
learned  to  love  Latimer  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  she  said — and  her  voice  seemed 
to  thrill  him  with  its  deep,  mournful  pathos — 
"  that  it  is  too  late  for  you,  and  too  late  for 
me,  Harry.  Too  late  for  you,  because  you  are 
engaged  to  Miss  Cheriton;  too  late  forme, 
because,  if  you  were  free  as  air,  I  would  not 
marry  you." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.  It  was  a  strange 
duel  of  conflicting  resolution  to  take  place  out 


MISS   CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


17 


there  ou  the  broad,  moonlit  river,  between 
these  two  who  had  once  loved  each  other  with 
the  tender  romance  of  early  youth. 

"  Why  not  ? "  he  asked,  huskily. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  forcing  me  to  tell 
you,"  she  answered.  "  All  this  is  very  useless. 
Let  us  go  back." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  repeated  once  more,  and 
the  deep,  passionate  resolve  of  his  eyes  told 
Ilelcn  that  the  question  must  be  answered, 
that  no  evasion  would  be  pos-ible  or  even 
safe.  Then,  as  it  were,  she  girded  up  her 
strength  and  answered  him  —  answered  him 
ill  words  which,  to  his  dying  day,  he  never 
forgot. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  not,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  because  I  once  loved  you,  and,  through 
that  love,  learned  to  know  you.  It  is  not  for 
me  to  speak  of  what  I  hoped  —  leaning  on 
your  own  promise  —  when  you  went  away. 
It  is  not  worth  while,  either,  to  speak  of  what 
I  suffered  when  I  realized  that  you  had  quite 
forgotten  me.  That  pain,  bitter  as  it  was,  is 
over  now.  But  you  took  from  me  something 
which  neither  you  nor  any  one  else  can  ever 
give  back."  She  paused  a  moment,  and  looked 
wistfully  away  from  him — far  over  the  hills 
softened  by  the  misty  moonlight,  and  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  drooping  woods — then,  very 
quietly,  she  went  on  :  "  I  do  not  know  whether 
or  not  it  was  that  I  poured  out  the  whole 
treasure  of  love  wastefully,  and  so  have  none 
left,  but  my  heart  lies  like  a  stone.  Your 
words,  your  tones  to-night  have  made  it  ache, 
but  that  is  all.  I  did  not  realize,  until  I  heard 
you  speak  as  you  have  done,  how  far  removed 
you  are  from  me.  Once  I  was  yours,  to  have 
done  with  mo  what  you  would :  now  I  could 
not  be  more  dead  to  you  if  I  were  in  my  grave. 
That  is  my  answer.  So  long  as  we  both  live, 
there  is  no7ie  other  possible  between  us." 

The  clear,  chill  tones  —  chill,  and  yet 
strangely  gentle — ceased.  Their  last  musical 
vibration  died  away,  and  only  the  rush  of  the 
river  sounded  in  Trefalden's  ears.  lie  said 
not  a  word,  his  lips  were  parched,  and  he 
could  not  speak.  Something  like  a  bitter 
sense  of  the  inevitable  seemed  weighing  him 
down.  Speak  ?  What  could  he  say  ?  JIau 
as  he  was,  and  full  even  to  arrogance  of  con- 
scious power,  he  felt  in  every  fibre  that  the 
resolution  of  this  fragile  girl  was  like  iron, 
that  he  might  dash  himself  and  all  his 
strength  vainly  against  it.  So  he  uttered 
not  a  syllable.  He  only  turned  the  boat 
6 


around,  and  began  steadily  rowing  against 
the  current  back  to  the  place  of  landing. 

As  they  reached  the  bank,  and  as  Helen 
was  preparing  to  rise  and  step  on  shore,  he 
spoke  for  the  first  time,  his  voice  sounding 
unlike  itself,  and  wonderfully  distinct  on  the 
still  night  air : 

"  Helen,  you  need  not  think  that  I  shall 
accept  your  decision  as  final.  A  man  cannot 
surrender  without  a  struggle  the  only  hope 
which  makes  his  life.  I  love  you,  I  have  al- 
ways loved  you,  and  I  shall  always  love  you. 
Remember  this,  and  remember  also  tliat  I 
am  simply  waiting  to  see  what  you  will  do 
with  this  love." 

Before  Helen  could  reply,  even  by  a  single 
word,  there  was  a  sound  on  the  shore  that 
made  them  both  start — a  suppressed  excla- 
mation, a  crackling  twig  evidently  crushed 
by  a  hasty  foot,  and  from  behind  a  group 
of  trees  Miss  Cheriton  stepped  full  into  the 
moonlight,  facing  them  both. 

IT. 

WiiEK  Miss  Cheriton,  after  considerable 
delay,  came  out  with  a  light  scarf  becomingly 
twined  around  her,  and  found  only  Latimer 
waiting  for  her,  it  is  doubtful,  to  say  the  least, 
if  her  disappointment  was  very  extreme. — 
"  What,  has  Harry  gone  ?  "  she  said,  in  a 
tone  of  slightly-piqued  astonishment.  But 
Latimer's  "  I  let  him  go  because  I  thought 
you  might  give  me  this  opportunity  to  make 
my  peace,"  was  sufficient  to  banish  any  cloud 
from  her  brow. 

"  Your  peace  !  "  repeated  she,  slipping  her 
white  hand  through  the  arm  which  he  of- 
fered, and  leaning  heavily  upon  it,  as  they 
walked  down  the  terrace  steps.  "  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  there  is  no  peace  to  be 
made.  Of  course  I  have  no  right  to  be  of- 
fended, liowever  plainly  you  may  show  me  or 
tell  me  that  you  prefer  Miss  Trefalden's  so- 
ciety to  mine." 

"  It  would  be  unfortunate  for  me  if  I 
chanced  to  prefer  yours,"  said  Latimer,  in  his 
cool  fashion  ;  "  considering  that  Trefalden 
has  a  legal  claim  to  its  monopoly." 

"  Not  quite  a  legal  claim  yet,"  said  she, 
with  superb  carelessness.  "  And  it  would  be 
a  wise  man,  indeed,  who  could  prophesy  with 
certainty  that  he  ever  will  have.  That  is  all 
nonsense,  Mr.  Latimer ;  and  you  know  me 
well  enough  to  be  sure  of  it." 

"  What  is  all  nonsense? "  asked  Mr.  Lati- 


78 


MISS   CHERITON'S   RIVAL. 


iner.  "  Your  engagement  to  Trefalden  ?  Poor 
fellow  !     For  his  sake,  I  hope  not." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  my  engagement," 
said  she.  "  But  I  was  never  one  of  the  people 
who  have  severe  ideas  about  such  things. 
M;iny  engagements  are  only  made  to  be  bro- 
ken ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  it  would  be  a 
good  thing  if  more  of  them  were.  If  I  should 
think  it  worth  while  to  dismiss  Harry  to-mor- 
row, I  don't  flatter  myself  that  he  would  suf- 
fer in  any  way — save,  perhaps,  from  a  little 
wounded  vanity.  His  devotion  to  his  cousin 
is  really  quite  edifying."  (Then,  after  a 
pause,)  "  I  wonder  you  are  not  jealous." 

"  Of  you  ?  He  might  consider  that  pre- 
sumptuous," 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  myself.  Miss 
Trefalden,  I  am  sure,  will  not  think  it  pre- 
sumptuous if  you  were  jealous  of  her." 

"  Harry  is  a  capital  fellow,"  said  Latimer, 
who  was  plainly  resolved  against  bringing 
Miss  Trefalden's  name  into  the  conversation. 
"  I  really  don't  know  a  better  one.  Miss 
Gheriton.  I  would  think  twice,  if  I  were  you, 
before  I  made  his  attentions  to  his  cousin  a 
reason  for  that  dismissal  of  which  you  speak." 

"  You  don't  suppose  I'm  thinking  of  his 
attentions  to  his  cousin,"  said  Miss  Cheriton, 
with  a  rising  color,  which  shone  even  in  the 
moonlight.  "  Of  course,  they  signify  nothing, 
except  that  he  is  fond  of  amusing  himself 
with  anybody  who  is  good  material  for  amuse- 
ment;  and  thcW''  (with  a  scornful  accent) 
"  Miss  Trefalden  certainly  seems  to  be.  I 
was  thinking  of  myself  alone  when  I  said,  or 
meant  to  say,  that  I  should  not  allow  myself 
to  be  fettered  by  any  engagement  an  hour 
longer  than  I  chose  to  do  so." 

Said  Mr.  Latimer,  in  a  tone  the  satire  of 
which  the  young  lady  was  happily  unable  to 
appreciate,  "  Your  sentiments,  I  perceive,  are 
broadly  liberal  with  regard  to  how  far  a  wom- 
an's word  may  be  taken  as  her  bond." 

"  I  think  that  a  woman  as  impulsive  as  I 
am  IS  liable  to  make  mistakes,"  said  she, 
somewhat  sentimentally ;  "  and  that  it  would 
be  hard  if  my  Avhole  life  had  to  bear  the  pen- 
alty of  them  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  honor 
about  breaking  my  word.  Is  it  possible  that 
you  would  condemn  me  to  it  ?  " 

"  I !  "  shrugging  his  shoulders  slightly. 
"  I  am  the  most  amiable  man  in  the  world.  I 
never  condemn  anybody  to  any  thing — even 
in  theory.  Sometimes,  however,  I  recom- 
mend  them  to  remember  that  '  the  quality  of 


mercy  is  not  strained,'  and  that  it  is  never 
more  gracefully  exercised  than  by  a  beautiful 
woman." 

'*  Keep  your  well-turned  periods  for  your 
speeches ! "  said  she,  tapping  him  on  the 
arm.  "  Listen  to  me  gravely  and  seriously 
now,  for  I  have  something  that  I  want  to  ask 
you.  Here  is  a  pleasant  place — suppose  that 
we  sit  down  and  talk  at  our  leisure  ?  "  j 

"  But  the  boating,"  said  Latimer,  a  little     \ 
aghast.      "  Harry  and  Miss  Trefalden  will  be 
waiting  for  us."  J 

"  Let   them   wait,"   with   admirable  non-     1 
chalance  ;  "  they  are  very  well  able  to  enter- 
tain each  other,  you  may  be  sure.     I  have  a 
fancy  to  sit  down  just  here  under  this  splen- 
did tree." 

"  By  all  means  gratify  it,  then,"  said  Lati- 
mer, with  an  audible  sigh  of  resignation.  "  I 
only  hope  we  may  not  surprise  a  family  party 
of  rattlesnakes,"  he  added,  following  her  ex- 
ample, and  seating  himself  on  the  branching 
roots  of  a  giant  oak  that  stood  by  the  way- 
side. 

But  Miss  Cheriton  was  quite  insensible  to 
any  fear  of  rattlesnakes.  Perhaps  she  knew 
that,  as  a  general  rule,  they  prefer  less  civil- 
ized haunts.  At  all  events,  she  sank  down 
in  a  picturesque  attitude,  and  leaned  against 
the  massive  trunk,  looking  certainly  very 
lovely  as  the  moonlight  shimmered  down 
through  the  thick  foliage  on  her  white  dress 
and  upturned  face. 

"Suppose,"  said  she,  after  a  while,  "I 
were  to  tell  you  that  I — I  had  almost  made 
up  my  mind  to  break  my  engagement  with 
Harry,     "What  would  you  think  ?  " 

Latimer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  should 
probably  think  that  you  had  grown  tired  of   \ 
it,"  said  he,  dryly. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,"  said  she^  a  little  petu- 
lantly.    "  Pray  talk  to  me  seriously  and — aa  1 
a  friend.     I " — a  droop  of  the  head — "  I  am 
sadly  uncertain  what  to  do,  and  I  need  the 
advice  of  a  friend  very  much." 

"  As  a  friend.  Miss  Cheriton,  I  should  be 
very  happy  to  serve  you ;  but  advising  you  is 
a  height  to  which  modesty  forbids  me  to  as- 
pire." 

"  I  am  sure  no  one  could  advise  me  better 
than  yourself," 

"  You  are  mistaken  "  —  it  was  doubtful 
whether  the  scene  was  beginning  to  be  most 
amusing  or  most  boring  to  him — "  a  man 
must  have  certain  fixed  ideas  and  principles 


MISS   CHERITON'S  RIVAL. 


79 


before  he  can  venture  to  advise.  Now,  I  have 
none." 

"But  you  know  what  you  ihinky 

*'I  assure  you  that,  nine  times  out  of  ten, 
I  don't  even  know  what  I  tbiuk.  Sad,  isn't 
it  ?  But  you  see  what  a  very  unsafe  mentor  I 
should  make." 

" Still" — clinging  to  her  point  with  deter- 
mined obstinacy  —  "  you  must  advise  me ! 
You  know  Harry,  and  —  and  —  I  think  you 
know  me.  Now,  tell  me  frankly,  do  you 
think  there  is  any  hope  of  happiness  for  us 
together  ?     Do  you  think  wc  suit  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Cheriton,"  said  Latimer, 
laughing,  "you  ask  me  a  hard  question.  Do 
I  think  you  suit?  My  impression  was  that 
you  suited  remarkably  well.  But  really,  in 
that,  as  in  every  thing  else,  the  only  person 
able  to  judge  is  the  person  immediately  con- 
cerned ?  " 

"You — you  think  I  could  be  happy  with 
him?" 

"He  is  such  a  good  fellow,  that  I  don't 
see  how  any  woman  could  fail  to  be  happy 
with  him." 

"  It  shows  how  little  you  know  of  me," 
said  she,  bitterly,  and  turned  her  face 
aside. 

Poor  woman !  The  pangs  of  wounded 
vanity  are  sometimes  as  sharp  as  the  pangs 
of  disappointed  love,  and  she  was  scarcely 
less  to  be  pitied  because  her  object  had  been 
so  petty,  and  her  means  so  unworthy.  Wom- 
an of  the  world  as  she  was,  she  knew  perfect- 
ly well  how  far  she  had  stooped  to  this  man — 
and,  now  that  she  had  failed  completely,  this 
knowledge  was  very  hard  to  bear.  At  that 
moment  such  a  swift,  sudden  rage  and  mor- 
tification flamed  up  in  her  heart,  that  she 
could  have  lifted  her  hand  and  struck  him  as 
he  sat  beside  her  so  cool,  so  quiet,  so  entire- 
ly beyond  her  power  of  moving.  Years  after- 
ward, when  their  paths  of  life  had  branched 
far  apart,  she  could  never  even  hear  his  name 
without  seeing  again  the  silvery  moonlight, 
the  softly-swelling  fields,  the  gnarled  roots  of 
the  old  oak,  and  the  little  scene,  as  brightly 
and  vividly  as  she  saw  it  that  night,  without 
feeling  again  the  same  bitter  tide  of  emotion 
which  she  felt  as  she  turned  from  him,  con- 
scious that  he  understood  her,  and  that  all 
further  efforts  were  hopeless. 

Latimer  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence 
which  ensued,  speaking  more  gently  and  con- 
siderately than  was  often  the  case  with  him. 


Perhaps  he  knew  as  well  as  Miss  Cheriton 
herself  what  was  passing  in  her  mind, 

"  Don't  you  think  we  had  better  go  on  to 
the  river  ?  It  is  very  charming  and  comfort- 
able here ;  but,  no  doubt,  Harry  and  Miss  Tre- 
falden  are  waiting  for  us." 

"  Certainly,  by  all  means,  let  us  go,"  said 
she,  rising  and  accepting,  without  a  word,  the 
arm  which  he  offered. 

When  they  reached  the  river,  they  found, 
naturally  enough,  that  Harry  and  Miss  Tre- 
falden  were  gone.  One  of  the  boats  had  also 
vanished,  and  Miss  Cheriton  declined  Lati- 
mer's proposal  that  they  should  embark  in 
the  other.  "  We  will  sit  here  and  wait 
a  while,"  said  she.  "  If  they  don't  come  soon, 
we  can  return  to  the  house."  She  did  not 
add,  but  Latimer  was  perfectly  aware,  that 
she  would  have  gone  back  at  once  but  for  her 
determination  to  avoid  another  long  tcte-d-ieie 
with  himself.  She  had  the  desire,  not  un- 
common  with  her  sex  when  stung  by  one 
man's  neglect,  to  turn  to  another  of  whose  al- 
legiance she  was  sure,  to  find  in  his  homage  a 
salve  for  a  wounded  pride,  and  in  his  appre- 
ciation recompense  for  the  other's  blindness. 
It  would  make  a  queer  little  chapter  in  those 
affairs  commonly  called  "  of  the  heart,"  if 
many  a  successful  suitor  could  know  the  se- 
cret of  the  rebound  in  which  he  has  caught 
his  prize.  "  I  will  wait  for  Harry,"  said  she, 
coldly.  And,  in  truth,  at  that  moment,  she 
felt  a  positive  tenderness  for  Harry.  He,  at 
least,  was  hers — hers  triumphantly  and  alone. 
She  had  one  faithful  vassal,  at  least,  and  in 
that  thought  was  something  like  balm. 

So  they  sat  down  under  a  clump  of  trees 
and  waited  until  round  the  bend  of  the  stream 
the  boat  came  in  sight.  Its  appearance  was 
welcome  to  both  watchers ;  and,  as  Trefalden 
— who  was  putting  all  his  energy  into  hi3 
strokes — sent  it  rapidly  toward  the  bank.  Miss 
Cheriton  gave  undisguised  expression  to  her 
relief. 

"  It  looks  pleasant,"  she  said,  "  and  how 
well  Harry  rows  !  I  think  I  shall  make  him 
take  me  out  on  the  water.  You  " — an  irre- 
pressible accent  of  bitterness — "  will  be  glad 
of  that,  Mr.  Lalimer." 

"lam  always  glad  of  your  enjoyment," 
responded  Mr.  Latimer,  in  his  usual  tone. 
"  But,  of  course,  you  cannot  expect  me  to  be 
glad  of  my  own  desolation." 

"A  desolation  easily  consoled  by  Miss- 
Trefalden.    Hush,  here  they  come !    Let  uS' 


80 


MISS   CHERITOX'S   RIVAL. 


say  notliinfi;,  and  smpiisc  them  when  they 
have  landed." 

Xever  was  the  trite  phrase,  that  surprises 
are  always  ill-judged,  better  exemplified  than 
on  this  occasion.  The  boat  shot  up  to  the 
shore,  Helen  rose  to  step  out,  and  Trefalden, 
extending  his  hand,  stopped  her. 

Now,  when  Miss  Cheriton  came  forward 
and  faced  the  two  cousins,  with  all  the  bear- 
ing of  a  tragedy-queen,  it  was  certainly  only 
natural  that  they  should  have  quailed  a  little. 
Partly  from  consternation,  but  more  from 
sheer  surprise,  Trefalden  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion, while  Helen  drew  back  a  step,  saying : 

"  Miss  Cheriton  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Cheriton,  in  a  tone 
which  scarcely  sounded  like  her  own,  so  en- 
tirely was  she  overwhelmed  by  a  flood  of  mor- 
tified rage,  and  that  keen,  bitter  sense  of  be- 
trayal which  is  certainly  the  hardest  thing  in 
the  world  to  bear.  "  Yes,  Miss  Trefalden,  it 
is  I !  You  did  not  count  on  a  witness  to  your 
love-scene,  I  suppose ;  but  I  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  letting  you  know  that  I 
had  unintentionally  been  one,  and  of  express- 
ing"— she  nearly  choked  here — "my  appre- 
ciation of  that  fine  sense  of  honor  which 
seems,  in  an  especial  manner,  to  distinguish 
your  family." 

"  Louise,"  said  Trefalden,  hastily  stepping 
forward,  "  you  do  not  understand — you  are 
laboring  under  a  great  mistake.     You — " 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  keep  back  ?  " 
said  she,  recoiling  from  his  hand,  and  looking 
at  him  with  eyes  of  fiery  scorn,  "How  do 
you  presume  to  address  me,  after — after  what 
I  heard?  Do  you  imagine  that  I  wiU  ever 
speak  to  you  again  ?  Do  you  suppose  that 
our  engagement  does  not  end  this  moment  ? 
Do  you  think  that  to-morrow  I  will  recognize 
you  as  an  acquaintance  ?  If  I  were  a  man,  I 
might  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you — but  a  wom- 
an is  debarred  even  from  the  use  of  words ! " 

"Tell  me,  by  all  means,"  said  he,  drawing 
up  his  tall  figure  and  looking  at  her  bitterly. 
"  Pei-hapa  I  may  be  able  to  reciprocate  your 
good  opinion.  If  I  have  talked  love  to  another 
woman,  it  certainly  has  been  no  fault  of  yours 
if  you  have  not  listened  to  it  from  another  mam" 

The  truth  of  this  taunt  made  it  sting  more 
deeply  than  it  is  possible  for  "words  to  ex- 
press— all  the  more  deeply,  too,  because  Lati- 
mer was  near,  and  could  not  fail  to  remember 
the  overtures  made  to  him  less  than  an  hour 
before.     First  crimson,  then  pale,  then  crim- 


son again,  Miss  Cheriton  set  her  teeth,  and 
answered  through  them,  when  she  could  suffi- 
ciently command  her  voice  to  speak  at  all : 

"  So  you  think  to  excuse  your  own  treach- 
ery by  insulting  me!  Such  conduct  is  in  ad- 
mirable keeping  with  all  the  rest ;  but, 
whether  or  not  it  does  you  credit,  I  leave  I 
you  to  determine.  As  for  your  cousin" — 
turning  to  Helen,  who  stood  by,  white,  silent, 
and  stately,  with  one  hand  pressed  on  her 
heart — "  I  owe  her  an  apology  for  my  inop- 
portune appearance.  It  seems  that,  having 
failed  with  Mr.  Latimer,  she  has  successfully 
turned  her  attention  to  yourself" 

"  With  regard  to  Helen,"  began  Trefalden, 
in  haughty  anger ;  but  Helen  silenced  him  by 
a  motion  of  her  hand.  Then,  taking  a  single 
step  forward,  she  addressed  Miss  Cheriton. 

"  It  is  useless  for  me  to  say  how  much  I 
regret  that  this  scene  should  have  occurred," 
she  said,  quietly.  "  Since  it  has  done  so,  I 
see  nothing  for  me  but  to  retire  from  it.  My 
justification  rests  with  my  cousin ;  and,  un- 
der any  circumstances,  I  decline  to  enter  into 
a  recrimination  of  charges  which  I  have  too 
much  self-respect  either  to  notice  or  resent." 

Her  tone,  her  manner,  her  whole  bearing, 
was  so  full  of  rare  and  perfect  dignity  that, 
for  a  moment,  she  almost  seemed  to  elevate 
the  scene  in  which  she  chanced  to  play  a 
part,  and,  for  a  moment,  absolutely  made  the 
angry  woman  before  her  realize  the  humili- 
ating folly  of  her  passionate  outbreak.  But 
it  was  only  for  a  moment.  The  calm  tones 
had  scarcely  ceased  to  speak,  when  a  scorn- 
ful answer  was  returned. 

"  It  would  have  been  fortunate  if  your 
self-respect  had  asserted  itself  a  little  sooner. 
Miss  Trefalden — let  us  say,  for  example,  be- 
fore you  became  a  plaything  for  two  men, 
neither  of  whom  has  ever  dreamed  of  any 
thing  but  his  own  amusement." 

Hardly  had  these  words  been  uttered, 
when,  to  the  astonishment  of  both  Helen  and 
Trefalden,  Latimer  stepped  forward  from  the 
leafy  screen  where  he  had  still  lingered,  and, 
taking  his  place  by  Helen's  side,  coolly  ad- 
dressed Miss  Cheriton : 

"  You  have  done  me  the  honor  of  associ- 
ating my  name  with  that  of  Miss  Trefalden," 
he  said.  "  I  hope  she  will  forgive  me  for 
making  such  a  declaration  in  public,  but,  in 
reply  to  your  last  remark,  there  is  nothing 
left  me  but  to  say  that  I  love  her  as  a  man 
only  loves  the  woman  whom  he  wishes  to 


MISS  CIIERITON'S  RIVAL. 


81 


marry,  and  that  my  most  earnest  hope  is  that 
this  love  will  one  day  enable  me  to  win  her." 
For  a  minute  these  words  were  followed 
by  an  absolute  stillness.  Knowing  only  the 
artificial  side  of  this  man's  character,  two,  at 
least,  of  his  astonished  listeners  were  unable 
to  realize  that  it  was  indeed  he  who  made 
this  simple  expression  of  frank  resolution 
and  earnest  meaning.  They  looked  at  him  in 
half-incredulous  amazement,  while  he — well, 
it  is  doubtful  whether,  at  that  instant,  he  did 
not  forget  their  very  existence.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  his  sentence,  he  turned  toward 
Helen,  and  met  her  soft,  dark,  pathetic  eyes. 
For  a  minute,  they  stood  looking  at  each 
other  in  silence.  Then  Miss  Trefalden  ex- 
tended her  hand,  with  a  gesture  which  Lati- 
mer never  forgot — extended  it,  not  as  she 
might  have  done  to  a  lover,  but  rather  as  to 
a  friend  who  had  performed  some  generous 
service  in  her  behalf. 


"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  softly,  with  the 
graceful  and  gracious  charm  which  Nature 
had  set  like  a  royal  seal  upon  her.  "  You 
are  very  good — very  kind.  I  understand  why 
you  have  spoken,  but  you  must  try  to  for- 
get— "  She  stopped  suddenly,  and  pressed 
both  hands  over  her  heart.  Something  like 
a  look  of  terror  came  into  her  eyes.  She 
struggled  for  a  moment  with  an  incapacity  to 
speak,  then,  saying  brokenly,  "  It  is  too 
late ! "  fell  forward. 

Latimer  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and,  kneel- 
ing with  one  knee  on  the  ground,  supported 
her  figure.  At  first  he  thought  she  had  only 
fainted — but,  in  a  few  minutes,  the  awful 
truth  came  to  him.  The  fierce  strain  of  emo- 
tion had  done  its  work  with  merciful  quick- 
ness. Too  much  of  sharp  tension  had  been 
laid  on  the  heart,  and  the  great  organ  of  life 
had  ceased  its  work  forever.  Miss  Cheriton's 
unintentional  rival  lay  dead  before  her. 


THE       END. 


MY     STORY. 


\  S  clearly  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  I  re- 
JlX.  member  that  sombre  November  even- 
in<T  when  I  met  Ross  Kendall  first.  The  lux- 
ury  of  a  fire  in  my  own  room  was  an  extrava- 
gance unknown  in  the  close  economy  which 
governed  the  domestic  arrangements  of  Ken- 
dall Manor.  Tired,  therefore,  of  my  seat  in 
a  corner  by  the  sitting-room  fire ;  tired  of 
watching  Uncle  Kendall's  grave,  rugged  face, 
as  he  sat  with  an  account-book  open  on  his 
knee,  running  his  bony  finger  slowly  down  the 
column  of  figures,  and  only  acknowledging 
my  presence  by  a  frown  if  I  made  any  noise ; 
tired  of  seeing  Mrs.  Kendall  (not  wife,  but 
sister-in-law  and  house-keeper  of  this  auto- 
crat) nod  over  her  knitting  ;  tired  of  the  tall 
clock's  drowsy  ticking  in  one  corner ;  tired 
of  my  odd,  dog-eared  volume  of  "  The  Days 
of  Bruce  ;  "  and  most  tired  of  all  of  myself,  I- 
rose  at  last,  slipped  out  of  the  room  without 
eliciting  any  thing  more  than  a  growl  from 
my  affectionate  guardian,  and,  bringing  a 
shawl  down  from  my  chamber,  wrapped  it 
about  me,  preparatory  to  setting  out  for  a 
walk. 

Even  yet  I  seem  to  feel  the  sharp,  raw  air 
— laden  with  coming  rain — that  rushed  over 
me  as  I  closed  the  hall-door,  and  stood  on  the 
broad  stone  steps  which  led  down  to  the  ave- 
nue. The  sky  was  overcast  with  lowering 
masses  of  gray  cloud,  scudding  along  before 
some  wind-storm  of  the  upper  air.  and  show- 
ing not  a  single  rift  in  their  sullen  gloom. 
The  brown  earth  was  strewed  with  fallen 
leaves,  while  the  gaunt,  bare  branches  of  the 


tall  oaks  seemed  pointing  like  spectral  fingers 
to  the  lowering  sky.  It  was  not  a  particular- 
ly cheerful  afternoon  for  out-door  exercise  ; 
but  down  the  steps  I  went,  and  was  soon 
tramping  along  the  avenue  as  if  intent  on  an 
errand  of  life  and  death.  How  clearly  I  re- 
call, at  this  moment,  the  peculiar,  pungent 
odor  of  the  dead  leaves  over  which  I  trod  ! 
If  I  should  live  to  count  fourscore  years,  I 
think  this  fragrance  of  the  autumn  will  al- 
ways bring  back  with  strange  vividness  that 
gray  afternoon  rapidly  closing  into  twilight, 
the  sobbing  miserere  which  the  bare  trees 
seemed  to  be  sighing  over  their  fallen  glory, 
and  the  shabby  little  figure  in  a  much-worn 
shawl,  executing  a  movement  very  like  a  mili- 
tary "  double-quick  "  toward  the  gate. 

Fortunately,  this  gate  was  not  very  dis- 
tant, and  I  reached  it  before  long.  There  I 
paused,  and,  leaning  my  head  against  the 
bars,  looked  as  wistfully  through  them  as  if 
I  had  been  a  Peri,  and  the  common,  beaten 
high-road  running  past,  a  paradise.  As  I 
look,  I  remember  that  a  wild  desire  came 
over  me  to  lift  the  heavy  latch  and  go  forth 
to  the  freedom  which  lay  beyond.  What  if  I 
was  but  a  girl — a  homeless  waif  whom  Uncle 
Kendall  fed  and  clothed  out  of  charity — the 
world  was  wide,  and  surely  somewhere  within 
its  borders  I  should  find  the  loving  hearts 
and  the  happy  home  of  which  I  dreamed. 
God  knows  my  life  has  not  been  a  bright  one 
since  that  time,  but  something  like  the  pity 
which  we  feel  for  a  stranger  comes  over  me 
as  I  think  of  the  desolate  child  who  stood 
there  on  that  evening — burning  with  a  fierce 
fever  of  unrest,  and  pondering  in  the  vague, 


8i 


MY  STORY. 


wild  fashion  of  youth,  whether  she  should  not 
make  one  desperate  effort  to  break  the  dull 
stagnation  of  a  life  narrow  and  sordid  beyond 
any  powers  of  expression. 

I  had  not  quite  decided  the  question  in 
the  affirmative,  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  hoofs  coming  at  a  sliarp  trot  along 
the  road.  I  did  not  even  turn  my  head  in 
the  direction  whence  the  sound  came.  Some 
belated  farmer  going  home,  no  doubt,  or  per- 
haps some  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  who 
occasionally  rode  past  Kendall — sons  of  the 
large  land-owners  in  its  neighborhood.  They 
were  nothing  to  me — I  knew  none  of  them. 
Friend  or  associate,  admirer  or  lover,  I  had 
not  in  the  world.  Shielded,  therefore,  by  the 
gathering  gloom,  I  kept  my  position — only 
starting  suddenly  from  my  abstraction  when 
the  horseman  stopped. 

Stopped  at  the  gate  of  Kendall  Manor ! 
I  could  with  difficulty  credit  my  eyes  as  I 
glanced  round  and  found  a  horse's  nose 
within  a  few  feet  of  me,  while  his  rider 
stooped  to  fumble  for  the  latch.  Through 
the  falling  dusk,  neither  horse  nor  rider  had 
perceived  the  human  figure  leaning  against  the 
gate,  and  both  were  startled  when  I  abruptly 
raised  my  face.  The  horse  reared  backward, 
his  rider  gave  the  reins  a  sharp  jerk,  and  a 
slight  struggle  ensued — the  gentleman  saying 
something  which  sounded  rather  forcible, 
but  which  I  did  not  hear  distinctly.  Then 
he  raised  his  voice  and  addressed  me,  whom 
he  evidently  took  for  a  loitering  servant. 

"  Open  the  gate,  if  you  please.  You  have 
frightened  my  horse  so  that  he  is  afraid  to  go 
near  it." 

I  meekly  obeyed,  opening  the  gate  and 
shielding  rqyself  behind  it,  as  I  pulled  it 
back.  The  horseman  rode  sharply  in — allow- 
ing his  horse  to  look  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left — and,  touching  his  hat  slightly  as 
he  passed  me,  said,  "  Thank  you  ! "  I  made 
no  reply,  for  I  was  amused  by  his  mistake, 
and  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  undeceive 
him.  After  he  passed,  I  pushed  the  gate 
back,  and,  while  I  was  lifting  the  latch  with 
both  hands  ia  an  endeavor  to  replace  it,  I 
was  startled  to  find  that,  instead  of  pursuing 
his  way  to  the  house,  he  wheeled  round  and 
again  addressed  me. 

" I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  "I  should  have 
asked  before — is  this  Kendall  Manor?  " 

"This  is  it,"  answered  I,  briefly;  and, 
having  now  raised  the  troublesome  latch  to 


its  proper  place,  I  turned  round  and  faced  the 
stranger — surely  very  much  of  a  stranger  who 
could  ask  such  a  question  as  that  in  Essex 
County,  and  at  the  very  entrance  of  the  Ken- 
dall domain. 

As  I  have  said  before,  it  was  dusk,  but 
I  saw  with  tolerable  distinctness  what  my 
interlocutor  looked  like ;  not  particularly 
handsome  or  particularly  imposing,  but  a 
gentleman  undoubtedly  in  air  and  manner — 
I  had  seen  few  enough  gentlemen  in  my  life, 
yet  I  felt  certain  on  this  point — a  man  who 
could  not  have  been  less  than  thirty  or  more 
than  thirty-five  apparently,  who  had  an  easy, 
well-built  figure,  a  bronze  face,  with  a  pair 
of  dark  eyes,  a  firm  chin,  and  a  heavily  droop- 
ing mustache. 

As  I  turned  and  gave  the  searching  look 
necessary  to  take  all  this  in,  the  stranger 
smiled  a  little,  apparently  at  the  coolness  and 
frankness  of  my  scrutiny. 

"Do  you  live  here  ?  "  asked  he,  pointing 
slightly  toward  the  old  brown  house  visible 
through  the  leafless  trees. 

"  Yes,"  answered  I,  laconically. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  Mr.  Kendall  is  at 
home?" 

"  He  was  at  home  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Thanks ;  good-evening." 

He  touched  his  hat  again,  and  tliis  tinie 
rode  away  without  turning  back. 

I  followed  at  my  leisure — not  particularly 
anxious  to  reach  the  house,  since  there  was 
nothing  for  it  now  but  the  cheerless  solitude 
of  my  own  chamber.  Once  or  twice  a  year, 
some  stranger  came  to  see  Uncle  Kendall  on 
business,  and  on  these  occasions  I  was  al- 
ways summarily  dismissed  from  the  sitting- 
room.  Doubtless,  the  same  result  would 
follow  on  the  present  occasion. 

My  surprise  was  great,  therefore,  when,  as 
I  opened  the  door  half  an  hour  later,  and 
stepped  into  the  hall,  cold  and  tired,  Uncle 
Kendall's  voice  sounded  from  the  sitting- 
room. 

"  Is  that  you.  Beryl  ?  "  he  cried ;  adding, 
when  I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  "  Come 
here." 

With  my  shawl  still  wrapped  around  me. 
I  obeyed,  entering  the  sitting-room,  where  a 
bright  fire  made  a  most  unusual  illumination, 
and  facing  Uncle  Kendall — seated  bolt  upright 
in  his  large  chair — and  the  stranger  for  whom 
I  had  opened  the  gate  half  an  hour  before. 

"  Come  here.  Beryl,"  repeated  my  uncle, 


MY  STORY. 


85 


as  I  paused  just  within  the  door,  feeling 
strangely  awkward  and  abashed.  "  Don't 
look  so  frightened,  child ;  nobody  is  going  to 
harm  you. — She  has  grown  up  here,"  he  went 
on,  looking  at  his  companion ;  "  but  she  will 
do  us  credit  some  day — eh,  Ross  ?  " 

The  gentleman  so  addressed  smiled,  but, 
without  making  any  other  reply,  came  for- 
ward and  held  out  his  hand  to  me. 

"Pardon  me  for  having  met  you  so  un- 
ceremoniously a  little  while  ago,"  he  said. 
"  I  did  not  know  then  that  we  were  cousins. 
My  name  is  Ross  Kendall." 

Even  those  few  words  were  full  of  so 
much  kindness,  that  my  sense  of  awkward 
shyness  fled  at  once.  I  smiled  as  I  gave  him 
my  hand. 

"I  never  heard  of  you  before,"  I  said, 
"  but  since  you  are  a  Kendall,  I  suppose  you 
must  be  my  cousin." 

"  I  have  not  had  much  time  or  inclina- 
tion to  instruct  her  in  family  ties  and  con- 
nections," said  Uncle  Kendall,  grimly.  "  She'll 
learn  about  them  soon  enough  for  all  the 
good  —  or  harm  —  they  can  do  her!  You 
are  the  best  of  the  whole,  Ross"  (with  a 
short  nod),  "  else  it  isn't  likely  I'd  have  you 
here  now." 

"  I  have  been  away  too  long  to  know  much 
of  the  family,"  said  Ross  Kendall,  gravely. 

"Thank  God  for  it,  then!"  said  the 
other,  sharply.  "  Take  my  word,  you'll 
never  have  any  thing  better  to  thank  Him 
for ! — Beryl,  did  you  hear  me  tell  you  to 
come  to  the  fire  ?     Sit  down  there ! " 

He  pointed  to  the  stool  which  I  had  va- 
cated a  little  while  before,  and  I  obeyed  the 
gesture,  subsiding  into  my  familiar  corner, 
and  looking  curiously  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  faces  before  me.  What  different  faces 
they  were,  as  the  firelight  flickered  over  them, 
bringing  out  clearly  the  prominent  traits  of 
both !  At  this  moment  I  seem  to  see  the 
strange,  fevered  eagerness  that  lit  up  the 
sharpened,  haggard  features  of  tlie  elder 
man,  and  the  grave,  quiet,  bronzed  face  of 
the  younger,  with  its  keen,  bright,  kind,  dark 
eyes. 

Somehow  my  entrance  seemed  to  have 
created  a  little  embarrassment.  They  were 
both  silent  for  some  minutes ;  then  Uncle 
Kendall  spoke  again. 

"  I  told  you  a  little  while  ago,  Ross,"  he 
said,  in  his  dry,  measured  way,  "  that  I  would 
wait  until  Beryl  came  in  before  I  let  you  know 


what  business  I  had  in  view  when  I  sent  for 
you,  I  heard  that  you  had  got  back  from 
China" — Uncle  Kendall  was  old-fashioned, 
and  he  pronounced  this  Chiny  —  "without 
having  bettered  yourself  much  ;  and,  since  I 
always  had  a  liking  for  your  father — he  was 
the  only  one  of  all  the  kin  I  ever  could  bear — I 
thought  I  would  take  a  look  at  you.  You  are 
like  him,"  he  went  on,  taking  a  very  hard 
look  indeed ;  "  but  I  think  you  may  do  better 
than  he  did.  You've  got  a  firmer  jaw.  Firm- 
ness is  the  great  thing  in  this  world,  lad. 
You'll  know  that  when  you  are  as  old  as  I 
am." 

"  I  know  it  now,"  said  Ross  Kendall,  very 
grimly. 

"  The  sooner  you  learn  it,  the  better,"  said 
the  other,  "  If  you  have  that,  you  won't  let  a 
woman  make  a  fool  of  you,  as  your  father's 
wife  did  of  him ;  you  won't  marry  her  for  her 
pretty  face,  as  he  did,  without  caring  if  her 
heart  is  as  black  as  Gehenna;  and,  above  all, 
you  won't  be  wheedled  into  leaving  your  prop- 
erty to  her,  so  that  she  can  marry  again,  and 
despoil  your  own  son  of  every  penny,  as  you 
have  been  despoiled.  By  G-d,  boy  ! " — I  had 
never  seen  Uncle  Kendall  so  excited  as  whec 
he  brought  his  hand  down  on  the  arm  of  hia 
chair  with  that  vehement  oath  —  "I  have 
thought  of  your  wrongs  sometimes  till  I 
would  have  given  every  dollar  I  am  worth  to 
prosecute  that  woman,  as  she  deserves,  for 
robbery  and  plunder ;  but  she  is  too  clever  to 
give  us  a  chance  for  that." 

"Let  us  rather  say  that  my  father  trusted 
her  too  implicitly,"  said  the  other,  coldly. 
"  Let  it  pass,  sir.  I  think  of  it  as  little  as 
possible.  In  fact" — shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders— "I  have  not  had  time  to  think  of 
much  besides  my  business  during  the  last  ten 
years." 

"  Have  you  made  any  money  out  there  in 
China?" 

"  A  little,"  was  the  reserved  reply. 

"  Enough  to  keep  you  from  going  back  ? — 
for  you  told  me  a  while  ago  you  had  no  liking 
for  the  place." 

"  So  far  from  that,  I  suppose  my  em- 
ployers will  send  me  back  next  month." 

"  For  how  long  ?  " 

"  Another  ten  years,  probably." 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Uncle  Kendall. 

For  a  minute  nothing  further  occurred. 
The  clock  ticked ;  the  fire  burned  obtrusive- 
ly ;  Uncle  Kendall  looked  at  the  leaping  blaze ; 


80 


MY  STORY. 


and  /  looked  at  the  man  who  bad  come  from 
China,  and  was  thinking  of  going  back  again, 
until  the  eyes  of  this  wonderful  traveller  turned 
on  me,  whereupon  my  own  immediately  sought 
the  floor.  After  that  I  contented  myself  with 
looking  at  the  drugget — feeling,  the  while,  ex- 
ceedingly hot  and  uncomfortable — until  the 
voice  which  I  knew  so  well,  and  (God  forgive 
me  !)  disliked  so  intensely,  spoke  again,  very 
slowly : 

"  I'm  an  old  man,  Rosa,  as  you  see,  and 
I'm  not  a  strong  man,  as  the  doctor  tells  me 
every  time  I  meet  him ;  so,  of  late,  I've  been 
thinking  who's  to  have  this  old  place  after 
I'm  dead.  It  ought  to  go  to  some  one  of  the 
name ;  but  I  don't  know  one  that  isn't  a  mer- 
cenary, unprincipled  scoundrel — unless  it  be 
yourself.  Root  and  branch,  they  have  been 
the  pest  of  my  life  for  years,  until  I  have 
sworn  that  I  will  leave  Kendall  and  every 
dollar  I  own  to  the  county  sooner  than  to 
any  of  'em.  You  are  the  only  one  that  has 
never  tried  to  make  any  thing  out  of  me,  lad, 
and  I  have  thought  more  than  once  of  leaving 
it  all  to  you ;  but,  then,  you  were  in  China, 
and  I  couldn't  tell  what  you  might  have  grown 
into.  Now  that  I've  seen  you,  however,  I  am 
willing  enough  to  make  you  my  heir — only 
there's  one  obstacle  in  the  way." 

"  What  obstacle  ?  "  asked  Ross.  He  spoke 
quietly,  but  I,  who  was  looking  at  him,  saw  a 
sudden  flush  come  to  his  cheek,  and  a  sudden 
light  to  his  eye.  It  was  evident  that  the  pros- 
pect of  liberty  and  fortune  was  very  pleasant 
to  a  man  expecting  to  go  back  to  China  for 
another  ten  years.  "  What  obstacle  ?  "  he  re- 
peated, after  a  minute. 

"  That  girl !  "  answered  Uncle  Kendall, 
poiuting  his  bony  finger  straight  at  me. 

To  say  that  the  girl  in  question  was  as- 
tonished at  this  unexpected  reply,  would  be 
to  say  very  little  indeed.  I  was  so  much  con- 
founded that  I  could  not  speak — I  could  only 
gaze,  as  if  transfixed,  at  the  finger,  and  won- 
der what  Uncle  Kendall  possibly  meant  by 
such  an  assertion. 

"  She  expects  to  be  my  heiress,"  pursued 
that  amiable  old  person,  after  a  minute,  in  a 
tone  of  great  disgust. 

"  I  don't  expect  it!  "  I  cried,  indignantly 
finding  voice  at  this.  "  I  never  thought  of 
being  your  heiress,  Uncle  Kendall !  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  say  I  did.  I — I  mean  to 
be  a  governess,  and  take  care  of  myself.  I 
told  Aunt  Kendall  so  yesterday." 


"  Indeed  !  "  said  he,  sardonically.  "  And 
may  I  ask  what  you  mean  to  teach  ?  " 

The  blood  rushed  into  my  cheeks  like  a 
flame,  and  to  this  day  I  remember  the  keen 
throb  of  humiliation  which  made  me  hang 
my  head  like  a  chidden  child.  I  had  never 
been  sent  to  school,  but  had  grown  into  a  tall 
girl  of  seventeen,  with  only  such  little  smat- 
tering of  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic,  as 
Aunt  Kendall  could  give.  Under  the  circum- 
stances, the  governess  idea  was  certainly  suf- 
ficiently  absurd ;  but,  then,  why  need  Uncle 
Kendall  have  taunted  me  with  my  ignorance  in 
such  a  tone,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger  ? 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  latter  which  broke 
the  silence — quiet,  but  with  a  kindness  in  it 
which  I  understood  instinctively  to  be  meant 
for  nie. 

"  Beryl  is  the  daughter  of  your  niece,  is 
she  not  ?  "  he  asked,  addressing  Uncle  Ken- 
dall. "  Certainly,  in  that  case,  she  has  a  bet- 
ter right  to  your  fortune  than  I." 

"  She  has  no  right  at  all,"  retorted  Uncle 
Kendall.  "  She  is  a  fool  if  she  thinks  so  !  I 
have  always  meant  to  leave  the  manor  to  a 
Kendall ;  and  I  should  like  the  fortune  I  have 
spent  my  life  in  making  to  go  along  with  it. 
But  nhe  has  to  be  provided  for,  I  suppose  " —  1 
the  scornful  finger  was  levelled  at  me  again — 
"  and  so  I  have  been  thinking — she  is  pretty 
enough,  as  women  go — that  you  might  not 
have  any  objection  to  marrying  her,  Ross.  It 
would  settle  all  trouble.  I  hope  you  have  not 
been  silly  enough  to  burden  yourself  with  a 
wife— eh  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  too  poor  a  man  to  afford 
such  a  luxury,"  answered  the  other.  He  tried 
to  speak  gravely,  but  my  sharpened  ears  could 
detect  an  irresistible  inclination  to  laugh  in 
his  voice.  That  tone  proved  a  drop  too  much 
in  the  already  brimming  cup  of  my  shame  and 
confusion.  Child  though  I  was,  I  could  still 
appreciate  the  indignity  and  contempt  with 
which  I  had  been  treated,  and  burning  tears 
of  rage  were  in  my  eyes  as  I  rose  suddenly  to 
my  feet. 

"  I  am  going,  Uncle  Kendall !  "  I  said,  in 
a  voice  which  trembled  from  the  same  cause, 
"  I — I  cannot  stay  any  longer.  It  is  true  you 
have  fed  and  clothed  me,"  I  cried,  passionate- 
ly ;  "  but  you  have  not  bought  me,  and  you 
have  no  right  to  offer  me  along  with  your  for- 
tune !  I  don't  want  any  of  it — I  would  not 
have  any  of  it;  but  I — I  think  you  might 
have  spared  me  such  an  insult  as  this ! " 


MY  STORY. 


87 


*'  Is  the  young  fool  mad  ?  "  demanded  Un- 
cle Kendall,  too  much  surprised  to  be  angry. 
"  What  the  devil  does  she  mean  ? — Take  your 
seat  again  this  minute,  Beryl ! " 

But  for  once  I  was  deaf  to  the  voice  of 
command.  I  rushed  to  the  door,  and  it  was 
while  I  was  fumbling  blindly  for  the  latch 
that  I  found  Koss  Kendall  at  my  side. 

"  Come  back.  Beryl,"  he  said,  as  he  might 
have  spoken  to  a  child.  "  Your  uncle  did  not 
mean  to  offend  you.  He  is  plain-spoken,  like 
all  old  people,  but  he  meant  no  harm.  Of 
course,  his  idea  was  absurd;  but  why  not 
laugh  at  it  instead  of  taking  it  like  this?  I 
have  a  better  one  to  propose,  instead,"  he 
added,  laughing  himself.  "  Won't  you  come 
back  and  listen  to  it?  By  Jove,  if  you 
don't " — as  I  still  retained  inflexible  hold  of 
the  door—"  I  shall  order  my  horse  at  once ; 
for  your  claim  to  Kendall  is  certainly  better 
than  mine ! " 

"  I  have  no  claim ! "  said  I.  But  curiosity, 
operating  with  the  last  threat,  brought  me 
back.  Then,  having  placed  me  in  a  chair, 
Ross  addressed  himself  to  my  uncle. 

"  I  have  ten  days  to  spare,  sir,"  he  said, 
"and  since  your  letter  was  very  kind,  I  came 
down,  meaning  to  spend  them  at  the  manor. 
Now,  I  propose  that,  instead  of  talking  any 
further  about  estates  and  heirships,  we  de- 
vote these  ten  days  to  learning  something 
about  each  other.  You  cannot  possibly  tell 
how  much  or  how  little  you  may  like  me  or 
trust  me  on  closer  acquaintance,  while,  as  for 
this  young  lady" — he  turned  and  looked  at 
me  with  a  smile  in  his  kind,  dark  eyes — "  I 
trust  that  she  may  at  least  learn  to  tolerate 
me  as  a  cousin.  All  question  of  any  thing 
else  we  will  waive  at  once.  It  is  enough  to 
say  that  no  consideration  could  tempt  me  to 
offer  myself  to  a  woman  I  did  not  love  hon- 
estly and  for  herself!" 

"  The  more  fool  you  ! "  commented  Uncle 
Kendall,  in  his  usual  candid  fashion.  "  There 
is  some  sense  in  what  you  say  about  deferring 
the  discussion  of  business  till  we  know  each 
other  a  little  better,"  he  added,  after  a  pause ; 
"  only  I  am  opposed  to  delays.  We  never 
know  what  may  happen;  and  I  had  a  fancy 
to  draw  up  my  will  to-morrow,  before  I  go — 
as  I  am  obliged  to  do — on  a  journey  of  five 
or  six  days.  However,  since  you  have  a  no- 
tion for  waiting,  let  it  be  so !  I  only  hope 
that  when  I  come  back  you  and  Beryl  will 
have  made  up  your  minds  to  take  each  other 


for  life.  It  is  all  nonsense,  this  thing  of  men 
and  women  talking  of  choosing  each  other 
for  love.  The  only  sensible  thing  to  do  is  to 
choose  the  person  who  can  make  you  most 
comfortable.  If  you  both  agree  to  what  I 
propose,  I'll  see  you  safely  married,  and  then 
I'll  draw  up  a  will  leaving  every  thing  I  am 
worth  to  you,  Ross.  I  don't  believe  in  wom- 
en's ever  owning  independent  property.  Mar- 
ried or  unmarried,  there's  not  one  of  'em  fit 
to  be  trusted  with  it ! " 

II. 

Our  autocrat  was  as  good  as  his  word, 
with  regard  to  taking  his  departure  the  next 
morning.  He  announced  at  the  breakfast- 
table  that  he  had  business  which  would  de- 
tain him  from  home  several  days,  and  thus, 
to  our  dismay,  Aunt  Kendall  and  myself  found 
ourselves  burdened  with  the  entertainment  of 
our  new-found  kinsman.  We  looked  at  each 
other  a  little  blankly;  but  there  was  nothing 
to  be  said,  and,  after  breakfast,  I  confess  that 
I  watched,  for  the  first  time,  with  sensations 
of  keen  regret,  the  diminishing  form  of  the 
tall  old  vehicle  and  raw-boned  horse  which 
conveyed  Uncle  Kendall  to  the  railway  town 
of  Exford. 

"  Are  you  always  so  sorry  when  your  un- 
cle leaves  home  ?  "  asked  Ross  Kendall,  ma- 
liciously. He  was  standing  by  me  on  the 
steps,  but  I  had  not  fancied  that  he  was  watch- 
ing me  until  the  tone  of  this  question  informed 
me  of  the  fact.  Then  I  started,  and,  feeling 
that  I  blushed,  I  felt  also  a  strong  inclination 
to  be  malicious  in  return. 

"I  am  not  usually  sorry  at  all,"  I  an- 
swered, quietly.  "  In  fact,  I  don't  think  that 
I  ever  was  sorry,  before." 

"  And  may  I  ask  the  cause  of  your  un- 
usual regret  on  the  present  occasion,  then  ?  " 

"  Since  you  have  asked,  you  have  no  right 
to  be  offended  if  I  say  that  it  is  because  you 
have  remained  behind  ! " 

"  I  am  not  offended  at  all,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing, yet  flushing  a  little.  "But  are  you  al- 
ways so  candid  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  live  with  Uncle  Kendall  and 
be  otherwise  ?  " 

"  Candidly  tell  me,  then,  why  you  object 
to  my  remaining?  I  am  a  most  inoffensive 
fellow,  and  would  not  harm  you  for  the  world." 

"  Why  should  you  wish  to  stay  ?  "  asked 
I,  impatiently.  "  It  cannot  possibly  interest 
you  to  be  shut  up,  in  a  lonely  country-house 


88 


MY  STORY. 


like  this,  with  a  tiresome  old  woman  like  Aunt 
Kendall,  and  a  silly  young  woman  like  me. 
There  are  no  horses,  no  dogs,  no  guns,  no 
books,  no  any  thing  to  amuse  you  !" 

"  Suppose  I  would  rather  not  be  amused  ?  "  | 
said  he,  smiling.  "Suppose  I  would  even 
rather  be  bored  ?  I  have  not  had  time  to  be 
bored  in  a  long  while ;  and  it  is  a  luxury  to  a 
man  fresh  from  China.  So  is  a  glorious  In- 
dian-summer day  like  this,"  he  added,  chang- 
ing his  tone,  "  a  luxury  worth  coming  back 
to  enjoy !  How  it  makes  me  feel  like  a  boy 
again !  I  wonder  if  I  might  venture  to  ask 
the  silly  young  woman  to  take  a  walk  with 
me?" 

His  gay  frankness  would  have  put  even  a 
shyer  person  at  ease.  Having  no  excuse 
ready,  and  being,  moreover,  mightily  tempted 
by  the  golden  day,  and  the  soft,  dreamy  air 
(not  to  speak  of  the  dark  eyes  and  the  ex- 
traordinary but  exhilarating  consciousness 
of  having  a  man  for  a  companion),  the  silly 
young  woman  in  question  readily  agreed  to 
go.  We  set  forth,  therefore,  and  if  it  mat- 
tered— which  it  does  not — I  could  recall  every 
word,  and  tone,  and  glance,  which  passed  be- 
tween us  on  that  bright  autumn  morning — 
that  morning  long  past  now,  which  I  spent 
like  a  very  child  in  showing  all  my  chiefest 
and  sweetest  woodland  haunts,  and  which 
was  crowned  by  the  wholesale  rifling  of  a 
chestnut-tree  upon  which  we  chanced  on  our 
homeward  route.  As  we  walked,  we  talked 
not  a  little,  and,  by  a  few  questions,  Ross 
drew  from  me  all  about  my  own  history — of 
which  there  was  very  little  to  tell — and  I 
think  it  was  his  sincere  pity  for  my  lonely, 
joyless  youth,  which  first  opened  my  heart 
to  him.  Does  anybody  wonder  that  I  did  not 
resent  this  feeling,  as  I  am  told  people  mostly 
do  ?  I  can  only  say  in  reply  that  it  should 
be  remembered  that  nobody  had  ever  before 
taken  the  trouble  even  to  pity  me.  Besides 
which,  when  Ross  said,  "Poor  child!"  there 
was  much  of  tenderness  as  well  as  pity  in  his 
voice  ;  and,  child  or  woman,  she  would  have 
been  made  of  strange  material  indeed,  who 
resented  any  word  of  tenderness  from  Ross 
Kendall's  lips. 

Well,  it  was  a  pleasant  day.  It  is  a  pleas- 
ant day  to  look  back  upon  even  now,  for  it 
was  only  the  beginning  of  others  more  pleas- 
ant still.  It  is  fortunate,  perhaps,  that  I 
cannot  linger  over  the  details  of  a  story 
which  just  here  would  seem,  no  doubt,  com- 


monplace enough.  Once  in  our  lives,  para- 
dise opens  for  all  of  us  out  of  the  dull  earth  ; 
and  days,  golden  with  the  light  of  tender  ro- 
mance, shine  upon  us  with  a  radiance  like 
unto  no  other  radiance  of  time.  Does  it  boot 
to  count  the  cost  of  the  bitter  desolation 
which  often  follows  ?  We  can  scarcely  think 
that  Eve  would  have  surrendered  one  memory 
of  Eden  for  all  the  joys  of  earth.  Yet  she 
must  have  dreamed  many  times  of  the  deep- 
green  bowers,  the  shining  waters,  the  mar- 
vellous glistening  fruits  of  that  fair  domain, 
and  waked  to  weep  such  tears  of  unavailing 
regret  as  have  watered  this  sad  planet  of  ours 
most  plenteously  ever  since. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  my  colorless  life, 
in  the  season  of  earth's  most  touching  sad- 
ness, that  some  days  like  those  of  which  I 
have  spoken  came  to  me.  Surrounded  now 
by  sorrow  and  desolation — full  of  pain  and 
weariness — I  can  thank  God  for  them  yet. 
Opening  a  drawer  in  the  desk  at  which  I  am 
writing,  some  relics  of  them  lie  before  me — 
changed,  as  the  years  which  have  passed  since 
then  have  no  doubt  changed  me,  too.  Brown 
leaves,  once  golden  and  scarlet  with  the  burn- 
ing touch  of  autumn — leaves  gathered  out  on 
the  hill-side  with  Ross — a  sketch  of  me  which 
he  made  one  day  on  the  blank  leaf  of  a  book, 
with  "  Little  Red  Riding  -  hood  "  scrawled 
lazily  underneath ;  a  few  other  trifles  equally 
insignificant,  and  one  short  curl  of  crisp,  dark 
hair.  Few  as  they  are — these  tokens  of  the 
past — they  open  the  whole  treasure-house  of 
memory  to  me.  They  bring  back  vividly 
those  lovely  days  with  their  wealth  of  unfor- 
gotten  words  and  tones,  their  soft  breezes 
and  faint  woodland  fragrances.  I  seem  to 
meet  the  dark  eyes,  to  hear  the  frank,  kind 
voice,  and,  if  I  lift  my  eyes  to  a  present  and 
a  future  which  are  alike  desolate,  I  can  still 
thank  God  that  love — even  our  poor  human 
love — stands  forever  chief  among  the  Immor- 
tals. 

Uncle  Kendall  was  gone  nearly  a  fort- 
night. To  say  that  I  lived  an  enchanted  life 
during  this  time,  would  be  to  say  very  little 
indeed.  For  let  it  be  remembered — in  justi- 
fication, perhaps,  of  my  folly — that  I  had 
never  before  had  even  so  much  as  a  kitten  to 
love.  In  my  case  there  was  no  dividing  and 
subdividing  of  affection  into  different  rills — 
no  father,  mother,  sisters,  brothers,  friends, 
to  claim  a  share  of  my  heart.  All  the  love 
which  was  mine  to  give,  swept  into  one  great 


MY  STORY. 


89 


channel,  and  poured  itself — for  good  or  ill — 
at  one  man's  feet.  Looking  back  now,  I  can- 
not regret  it.  It  was  something — nay,  I  am 
still  mad  enough  to  think  it  was  every  thing 
— to  have  lived  in  the  light  of  his  smile  for 
ten  long,  golden  days,  and  heard  him  say  a 
thousand  times  in  accent  before  he  ever  said 
in  words,  that  he  loved  me. 

When  at  last  he  did  speak,  it  seemed  like 
something  which  had  been  long  acknowledged 
and  believed.  \\''e  were  sitting  on  a  sunny 
hill-side — how  well  I  remember  the  golden, 
dreamy  beauty  of  that  Indian-summer  after- 
noon ! — with  a  glorious  sweep  of  country  at 
our  feet,  clad  in  the  gorgeous  robes,  and 
draped  with  the  lovely  haze  of  autumn.  I 
had  gathered  from  the  ground  two  or  three 
brilliant  leaves — the  same  which  lie  before 
me  now  so  brown  and  crisp — and,  with  the 
coquetry  inborn  in  woman,  laid  them  against 
the  rich  masses  of  my  hair. 

"  Are  they  pretty  ?  "  I  asked,  looking  up 
at  Ross  with  the  eyes  which  I  knew  full  well 
were  like  the  summer  sky  at  noonday. 

He  smiled  a  little. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  he  said.  "  You 
know  they  are  pretty — almost  as  pretty  as 
you  are ! " 

''Ami  pretty  ?  "  asked  I,  quickly.  "  Do 
you  really  think  so  ?    I — I  should  like  to  be." 

"  Why  should  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked,  in 
turn,  looking  at  me  with  a  strange  intentness 
in  his  dark  eyes. 

"  Because  I  am  sure  it  must  be  the  great- 
est gift  a  woman  can  possess,"  I  answered, 
readily.  "  It  must  be  pleasant,  I  think,  to 
know  that  one  has  the  power  to  win  love  any- 
where and  under  any  circumstances." 

"  Then  you  are  like  all  other  women,"  he 
said,  a  little  bitterly.  "  You  long  not  for  one 
slave  but  for  a  thousand ;  you  want  beauty, 
not  to  gladden  one  man's  eyes,  bat  to  give 
power  over  many.  Well" — he  drew  in  his 
breath  a  little  quickly — "  be  satisfied.  You 
have  it !  It  is  yours  in  gi-eater  degree  than  I 
have  ever  before  known  it  bestowed  on  any 
one  woman.  If  you  go  into  the  world — or, 
perhaps  I  should  say  tvhoi  you  go  into  tht 
world — you  will  find  men  enough  to  tell  you 
this  better  than  I  can." 

His  tone — which  was  almost  harsh — took 
me  so  much  by  surprise,  that  for  a  moment  I 
could  say  nothing.  Then  I  felt  hot  tears  rise 
into  my  eyes. 

"  That  was  not  what  I  meant,"  I  said. 


hastily.  "I  was  not  thinking  of — of  other 
men.  What  do  I  care  for  them  ?  I  was  only 
thinlcing  that,  if  I  were  pretty,  yo^i  would  like 
me  better." 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  ever  like  you 
better!"  he  said,  quickly,  "for  I  fear — 0 
Beryl,  I  fear — that  I  like  you  too  much  al- 
ready. Child,  don't  look  at  me  in  that  star- 
tled fashion.  I  mean  every  word  I  say.  1 
love  you,  God  knows,  better  than  I  ever 
thought  to  love  any  thing  on  earth  again  ; 
but,  if  you  came  to  my  heart  this  minute,  I 
should  be  miserable  through  fear  of  losing 
you.  I  loved  another  woman  once,  who  was  not 
half  so  beautiful  as  you  are,  and  she  deceived 
and  forsook  me.  Why  should  not  you  do  the 
same? " 

His  voice,  his  words,  seemed  to  cut  like  a 
knife  to  my  heart  I  have  already  said  that 
I  was  little  more  than  an  ignorant  child  ;  for- 
give me,  then,  if  I  sinned  grievously  against 
all  precedents  of  courtship.  Don't  be  hope- 
lessly shocked  that  I  extended  my  hands  to 
him,  backed  by  a  pair  of  wistful,  tearful  eyes. 

"Ross,"  I  said,  simply,  "/  would  never 
deceive  or  forsake  you." 

His  only  answer  was  to  take  me  into  his 
arms.  I  think  for  a  moment  he  could  scarce- 
ly speak — so  deeply  had  those  simple  words 
touched  him.  Then — but  my  story  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  words  of  fond  folly  and 
tender  sweetness  which  were  uttered  out  on 
the  hill-side  that  day.  They  are  buried  long 
since — buried  by  the  rains,  and  leaves,  and 
sobbing  winds  of  many  succeeding  autumns — 
for  the  seasons  which  come  and  go  in  their 
appointed  course  have  never  brought  such  an 
hour  again  to  all  my  dreary  life. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  we  took  our 
way  homeward.  Oh,  in  what  bright  and 
tender  colors  does  memory  still  paint  that 
last  happy  evening !  I  seem  to  see  yet  the 
glow  of  sunset  clouds  brightening  the  whole 
landscape  and  reflected  in  the  streams  that 
took  their  way  through  purple  ravines  and 
smiling  valleys.  Even  the  windows  of  the 
old  manor  were  all  on  fire,  as  if  with  a  brill- 
iant illumination,  when  we  came  in  sight  of 
them.  "  It  is  in  our  honor !  "  Ross  said,  with 
a  smile. 

When  he  said  this,  we  were  standing  on  a 
hill  overlooking  the  manor  from  the  rear.  At 
our  feet  lay  the  old  house,  with  the  lazy  blue 
smoke  ascending  from  its  chimneys,  and  its 
panes  of  old-fashioned  glass  blinking  redly  iu 


90 


MY   STORY. 


the  sunset  glow ;  also  in  full  view  were  the 
out-houses,  kitchens,  and  stables,  while  far- 
ther back — out  of  sight  from  the  manor,  but 
clearly  visDjle  to  us — was  a  small  cabin,  with 
an  enclosed  piece  of  ground  attached,  and  a 
rough  piazza  in  front — one  of  those  establish- 
ments which  used  to  be  so  common  on  every 
Southern  plantation,  where  some  old  servant 
had  been  "turned  out  to  grass"  after  long 
and  faithful  service. 

"  That  is  where  old  Sylvy  lives,"  said  I  to 
Ross.  "  Did  you  ever  see  old  Sylvy  ?  No  ? 
Well,  then,  you  ought  to  see  her,  for  I  really 
believe  she  is  the  only  person  in  the  world 
who  is  not  afraid  of  Uncle  Kendall.  I  some- 
times think,  on  the  contrary,  that  lie  is  afraid 
of  her  —  he  certainly  treats  her  with  more 
consideration  than  he  treats  anybody  else, 
and,  whenever  he  is  sick,  he  sends  for  her  to 
nurse  him.  They  say  that  she  used  to  be  his 
wife's  favorite  maid.  Fancy  Uncle  Kendall 
ever  having  had  a  wife  !  " 

"And,  pray,  why  not  ?  "  asked  Ross,  smil- 
ing. "  Uncle  Kendall  was  not  always  an  ogre. 
No  doubt  he  was  as  good-looking  as — as  I 
am,  for  example,  when  he  was  young.  He 
loas  married,  I  know ;  but  he  quarrelled  with 
his  wife,  and,  since  her  fortune  was  settled 
on  herself,  and  her  temper  was  as  high  as 
his  own,  she  refused  to  live  with  him.  They 
separated,  therefore,  but  the  law  gave  him  the 
control  of  their  only  child,  whom  he  accord- 
ingly kept  until  she  grew  into  a  girl,  when 
she  ran  away  and  joined  her  mother.  After 
that,  he  never  saw  either  of  them  again." 

"Aunt  Kendall  has  told  me  all  about  it," 
said  I,  "  and  I  think  she  was  quite  right.  If 
I  had  only  had  anybody  to  run  to, /should 
have  run  away  long  ago.  Tell  me  what  be- 
came of  her,  Ross.     Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Dead  long  ago,  I  suppose,"  answered 
Ross,  carelessly.  "  I  never  made  any  particu- 
lar inquiries,  but  I  know  that,  as  long  as  I  can 
remember,  Uncle  Kendall's  wealth  has  been  a 
source  of  speculation  in  the  family.  '  Whom 
will  he  leave  it  to  ? '  I  have  heard  Kendall 
after  Kendall  anxiously  ask  —  which  they 
would  not  have  done,  you  know,  if  his  daugh- 
ter had  been  alive." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  I.  "  It  would  be 
terrible  if  she  was  alive,  though,  would  it 
not  ? "  I  added,  with  startling  abruptness. 
"  You  would  have  to  go  back  to  China,  after 
all,  then,  wouldn't  you,  Ross  ?  " 

"  That  would  depend  upon  circumstances," 


answered  he,  jestingly.  "  If  the  will  was  made, 
Kendall  would  be  mine,  let  who  would  ap- 
pear." 

"  What  a  different  Kendall  we  will  make 
of  it,  will  we  not  ?  "  cried  I,  gayly.  "  Oh, 
Ross,  it  shall  bloom  like  a  garden,  shall  it 
not  ?  Are  you  not  happy  ?  Do  you  not  feel 
as  light  as  the  air  ?  See  if  you  can  reach  the 
bottom  of  the  hill  as  soon  as  I  can." 

In  the  overflowing  lightness  of  my  heart  I 
started — I  was  as  fleet  as  a  deer  in  those  days 
— and  ran  down  the  sloping  hill-side,  carpeted 
with  smooth  pine-straw.  Of  course,  I  reached 
the  bottom  long  before  Ross  ;  and,  as  I  paused 
for  breath,  a  small  black  figure  darted  at  me 
from  some  unsuspected  quarter. 

"  Miss  Beryl,  granny  say,  will  you  please, 
ma'am,  come  there  ?  " 

"  What  does  your  granny  want  ?  "  asked 
I,  impatiently.  I  knew  very  well  that  the 
"  granny  "  in  question  was  old  Sylvy,  whose 
cabin  stood  near  by,  and  I  felt  little  inclined 
for  an  hour's  gossip  over  her  rheumatism  and 
asthma. 

"  I  dunno,  ma'am,"  said  the  boy — Sylvy's 
grandchild  and  factotum — "  but  she  sent  me 
to  de  big  house  fur  you,  and  when  she  heard 
you  was  out  in  de  woods,  she  tole  me  to  keep 
watch  till  you  come,  and  tell  you  she  wanted 
pa'tic'lar  to  see  you." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  I,  pettishly.  "  Well,  tell 
her  I  will  be  there  in  a  minute." 

As  the  boy  ran  off,  I  stopped  to  explain  to 
Ross  why  I  could  not  accompany  him  to  the 
house.  "  Old  Sylvy  wants  to  tell  me  about 
the  dreadful  '  misery '  in  her  back,  and  how 
she  can't  sleep  of  nights,  but  has  to  sit  up  by 
the  fire  and  smoke,"  I  said,  with  a  grimace. 
"  I'll  come  as  soon  as  I  can ;  good-by." 

"  Suppose  I  go  in  and  offer  her  a  cigar  to 
let  you  off  duty  ?  "  said  he,  laughing. 

But  I  declined  this  offer,  and  so  we  parted, 
he  going  on  to  the  house  with  his  easy,  swing- 
ing tread,  whistling  as  he  went;  while  I  ran 
up  the  step  of  old  Sylvy's  piazza,  and  tried  to 
open  her  door.  To  my  surprise,  it  was  fast- 
ened. 

"  Sylvy  !  Sylvy !  "  said  I,  rattling  it  impa- 
tiently.   "  Let  me  in — it  is  I ! " 

After  a  minute,  I  heard  a  fumbling  at  the 
latch,  then  the  door  opened  slowly,  and  Syl- 
vy's face — nothing  more — appeared. 

"  Is  that  you,  Miss  Beryl  ?  "  she  asked, 
peering  cautiously  out. 

"  Of  course  it's  me  !  "  answered  I,  too  im- 


MY  STORY. 


91 


patient  to  consider  grammar.  "  Wlao  else 
should  it  be  ?  " 

"  I  ax  your  pardon  forkeepin'  you  waitin', 
ma'am,"  she  said,  opening  the  door  with  her 
usual  courtesy — for  Sylvy  was  a  negro  of  the 
old  school,  and  often  boasted  that  she  had 
been  "  taught  manners  by  her  ole  mistis  " — 
"but  a'  body  can't  be  too  pa'tic'lar  when 
they've  got  reason  for  wantin'  no  tattlers 
about.  Walk  in,  ma'am.  I  hope  your  health's 
pretty  well  this  evening  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  always  well,"  said  I,  with  the 
boastful  superiority  of  youth.  "  How  is  your 
rheumatism  ?  " 

"About  as  usual,  thank  you,  ma'am,"  she 
answered,  in  the  tone  which  shows  that  an 
answer  is  absently  given. 

This  in  itself  surprised  me,  for  Sylvy  was 
always  only  too  ready  to  talk  of  her  ailments ; 
but  when  I  saw  her  carefully  bolt  the  door 
acrain,  I  at  once  inquired  what  was  the  matter. 
"  Why  do  you  shut  up  your  house  so  closely 
this  beautiful  evening  ?  "  I  asked.  "  It  is  hor- 
ribly warm  ! "  Which  was  not  surprising, 
since  a  large  fire  was  burning  in  the  capacious 
chimney. 

"  There's  some  isn't  warm,  if  it  is  a  beau- 
tiful evening.  Miss  Beryl !  "  said  she,  solemn- 
ly and  mysteriously.  Then  she  pointed  to 
the  corner  where  her  bed  stood,  generally 
covered  with  a  quilt  of  bright  and  wonder- 
ful device,  but  now  occupied,  as  a  glance 
showed  me,  by  a  motionless  and  recumbent 
fisrure.  "  There's  07ie  as  will  never  be  warm 
agin  in  this  world,"  said  she,  tremblingly. 
"  You  can  go  and  look  at  her,  Miss  Beryl. 
How  she  ever  got  here,  and  she  so  fur  gone, 
the  Lord  only  knows  !  " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  asked  I. 
"Who  is  it?  Why  didn't  you  send  for  Aunt 
Kendall  if  anybody  is  sick  ?  " 

"  Send  fur  Miss  Kendall ! "  repeated  Sylvy, 
contemptuously.  "  What  I  gwine  send  fur 
her  fur  ?  She's  so  afraid  of  ole  master,  she 
dasen't  say  her  soul's  her  own.  If  he'd  a  bin 
at  home,  I'd  a  sent  for  nobody ! "  pursued 
she,  defiantly.  "  I'd  a  gone  as  straight  to 
him  as  my  old  feet  could  carry  me.  But 
he  ain't  here,  and  I'm  only  an  ole  nigger,  so 
I  thought  maybe  you'd  know  best,  Miss 
Beryl,  what's  to  be  done." 

"  I  have  not  an  idea  what  you  are  talking 
about!"  cried  I,  bewildered.  "What  is  the 
matter  ?  Of  course,  if  anybody  is  very  ill, 
you  ought  to  send  for  the  doctor." 


"  It's  too  late  for  doctors  to  do  any  good 
to  /ter,"  said  she,  shaking  her  head.  "  Come 
and  look  at  her  yourself,  Miss  Beryl !  You 
ain't  much  of  a  one  to  judge,  but  you  can  tell 
death  when  you  see  it,  I  reckon." 

1  had  not  time  to  resent  the  slight  thus 
cast  upon  my  powers  of  judgment,  for  she 
drew  mo  toward  the  bed,  and,  in  the  red 
light  of  the  fire,  I  saw  a  sight  which  shocked 
and  thrilled  me.  A  woman,  with  a  face  of 
ghastly  whiteness,  lay  under  a  heavy  mass  of 
quilts  and  shawls,  breathing  so  faintly  that  it 
was  difficult  to  tell  at  first  whether  or  not  she 
breathed  at  all,  and  with  every  line  of  her 
sunken  face  proclaiming,  even  to  my  inex- 
perienced eyes,  that  Death  was  indeed  laying 
his  icy  finger  on  the  feeble  pulses,  and  saying 
to  the  heart,  with  that  power  which  no  mor- 
tal skill  can  gainsay,  "Be  still  !  " 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  said  I,  turning  to  Sylvy, 
who  stood  by  wiping  her  eyes.  "  Good  Heav- 
ens, the  woman  is  dying  !     Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  She's  Mass  Kendall's  own  daughter.  Miss 
Beryl,"  answered  the  old  woman,  solemnly. 
"  She's  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  ma'am,  an' 
she  hasn't  any  better  place  to  lay  her  head 
than  the  cabin  of  an  ole  nigger  like  me  !  " 

"il/rtss  KendaWs  oien  daitffhterf"  That 
was  all  I  heard.  The  rest  of  the  speech — full 
of  sorrowful  indignation  though  it  was — passed 
like  the  sounds  in  a  dream. 

"  Why,  it  was  not  an  hour  ago  we  spoke 
of  her  !  "  I  cried  out,  stunned  by  the  coinci- 
dence as  such  coincidences  do  stun;  "and 
Ross  said  that  she  was  dead  !  " 

"Z  knowed  she  wasn't  dead,"  said  Sylvy, 
grimly,  "an'  ole  master  knowed  it,  too. 
Many's  the  letter  he's  had  from  her,  but  he 
never  tole  nobody  about  'em  but  me.  '  I've 
had  another  letter  from  your  chile,'  he'd  say 
to  me,  sneerin'-like.  'She's  anxious  to  be 
took  back,  now  that  she's  run  through  all  her 
mother's  fortune  ;  but  I  swore,  when  she  lef ', 
she  should  never  have  a  dollar  of  mine — an' 
she  never  shall.'  He's  a  hard  one,  is  ole  mas- 
ter ;  but  I've  up  an'  tole  him  'fore  to-day  what 
I  think  of  him.  He  druv'  my  poor  mistis' 
into  leavin'  him,  an'  then  he  might  'a'  knowed 
that  the  chile  was  goin'  to  follow  her  mother. 
I  tried  to  keep  her  from  it,  poor  lamb  !  but 
she  would  go,  an'  ole  Sylvy  ain't  the  one  to 
blame  her.  I  nussed  her  in  these  arms  ! " 
said  the  faithful  creature,  sitting  down  and 
sobbing  in  her  apron.  "  I  was  the  fust  one 
that  took  her  after  she  come  into  this  world 


92 


MY   STORY. 


of  trouble,  an'  now — 0  Lord,  Lord  !  to  think 
that  she's  come  back  to  ole  Sylvy  to  die  !  " 

I  said  nothing.  What  could  I  say?  A 
great  horror  seemed  to  come  over  and  be- 
numb me.  I  sat  down  on  a  chest  near  by, 
and  stared,  first  at  the  dying  woman,  and  then 
at  her  sobbing  nurse. 

"  When  did  she  come  ?  "  I  asked  present- 
ly, in  an  awe-stricken  whisper. 

"Not  more'n  three  hours  ago,"  Sylvy  an- 
swered. "  I  was  a-sittin'  in  my  door,  knittin', 
an'  thinkin'  no  more  of  seein'  her  than  of 
seein'  the  dead,  when  she  come  a-toilin'  up 
the  hill,  an'  stood  afore  me  like  a  ghost. 
'  Mammy,'  she  says,  '  don't  you  know  me  ? 
I'm  your  chile.'  Then,  when  I  fetched  her  in 
an'  made  her  lie  down — fur  she  was  white  as 
a  sheet — she  tole  me  how  she  was  a  widow, 
an'  how  she  had  bin  so  sick  she  was  afraid 
she  would  die  an'  leave  her  chile  with  nobody 
to  purtect  him — you  see,  he's  her  youngest, 
an'  all  she's  got  lef — so  she  thought  she'd 
come  to  her  father  an'  see  if  he  wouldn't 
promise  to  befriend  the  boy  after  she  was 
gone.  But,  though  she  come,  she  was  afraid 
to  go  up  to  the  house,  for  fear  he'd  shut  the 
door  in  her  face,  as  he  said  he  would ;  so  she 
come  to  ask  me  what  she  better  do,  an', 
while  she  was  a-talkin',  she  begun  to  spit 
blood,  an'  it  went  on  wuss  an'  wuss,  till  it 
lef  her  right  where  you  see  her  noAv." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  asked 
I,  after  another  pause,  and  in  another  awe- 
stricken  whisper. 

"That's  what  I  don't  know,"  she  an- 
swered, shaking  her  head.  "  If  master  was 
here,  I'd  go  straight  to  him;  but  he  ain't, 
you  know,  an'  it's  no  worth  while  to  go  to 
ole  Mis'  Kendall.  But  I  thought  as  how  you 
— who's  goin'  to  have  every  thing,  they  say — 
might  take  it  upon  yourself  to  have  your  own 
cousin  carried  to  die  in  the  house  where  she 
was  born." 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  have  every 
thing  !  "  I  said,  indignantly ;  "  and  I  have 
no  more  right  to  give  an  order  at  Kendall 
than  you  have.  In  fact.  Uncle  Kendall  would 
let  you  do  it,  before  he  would  let  me  !  " 

"  An'  is  everybody  to  say  that  my  mistis's 
chile  died  in  a  nigger's  cabin  ?  "  demanded 
she,  vehemently. 

Now,  it  must  be  premised  that,  under  or- 
dinary circumstances,  Sylvy  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  calling  herself  a  cannibal  as 
a  "nigger;"  but  at  present  she  had  thrust 


herself  so  entirely  aside— her  whole  thoughts 
were  so  full  of  the  wrongs  of  her  dying 
"child"— that  she  did  not  hesitate  to  use 
even  this  opprobrious  term  to  express  her 
sense  of  these  wrongs  more  strongly. 

"I— I  don't  know,"  said  L  "It  is  ter- 
rible— but  what  can  I  do  ?  If  there  was  only 
somebody  to  take  the  responsibility—"  Then 
I  stopped,  and  gave  a  little  cry.  "  There  is 
Ross!"  I  said.  "I  might  ask  him.  He 
would  know  what  to  do,  and  he  would  not  be 
afraid  of  Uncle  Kendall  either.  Why  did  I 
not  think  of  that  before?  I  will  go  for 
Ross  ! " 

I  rose  impulsively  and  started  toward  the 
door,  but,  as  I  reached  it,  a  low  cry  from 
Sylvy  made  me  stop  short.  She  had  risen, 
and  bent  over  the  bed. 

"  0  Miss  Beryl,"  she  cried,  with  a  wail, 
"  it's  too  late — too  late  !     My  chile  is  dead  !  " 

iir. 
WuEN   I  left   Sylvy's   cabin,   the  lovely 
dusk  which  reigned  over  the  earth  when  I 
entered  had  given  place  to  absolute  night, 
brightened   only  by  that   tender,  fairy -like 
lustre  which  we  call  starlight.    The  air  came, 
with  a  cool  freshness  impossible  to  describe, 
to  my  fevered  cheeks,  though  magically  soft 
for  the  season,  as  I  walked  slowly  along  the 
path — every  foot  of  which  I  knew— that  led 
to  a  stile  in  the  rear  of  the  manor-kitchen. 
It  was  not  strange  that,  as  I  walked,  I  felt 
stunned  and  bewildered.     The  startling  scene 
through  which  I  had  so  lately  passed  had 
come  upon  me  with  the  force  of  such  absolute 
surprise  that  it  might  have   crippled,  for  a 
time,  the  activity  of  even  a  stronger  brain 
than  mine.     The  pale,  set  face  of  the  dead 
woman— the  face  which  I  had  bent  over,  and 
which  I  shuddered  to  remember  that  I  had 
even  touched— seemed  to  go  with  me  as  I  hur- 
ried down  the  sloping  path.    I  could  not  ban- 
ish it,  nor  the  flushed  face  of  a  sleeping  child 
with  a  corn-colored  mop  of  curls,  at  whom 
Sylvy  had  pointed  sorrowfully,  saying,  "  It's 
for  him  she  come." 

For  him  !  That  Kendall  might  be  given  to 
him,  and  Ross  sent  back  to  China !  That  was 
the  thought  that  came  to  me  like  a  flash— the 
first,  instinctive  comment  of  my  jealous  heart. 
It  had  been  my  thought,  indeed — though  only 
vaguely  grasped— when  I  first  heard  who  the 
dying  woman  was.  Does  any  one  think  this 
strange  ?     If  so,  let  me  say,  once  for  all,  that, 


MY  STORY. 


93 


though  I  do  not  intend  (God  forbid  that  I 
should  intend ! )  to  extenuate  any  of  the 
thoughts  and  acta  which  it  is  part  of  my 
story  to  record,  yet  it  is  impossible  for  him 
to  judge  dispassionately  of  this  story,  who 
does  not  remember  that  a  young  savage  of  the 
South  Sea  would  have  had  a  decided  advan- 
tage over  me  at  that  time  in  point  of  moral, 
social,  religious,  or  any  other  kind  of  train- 
ing, and  that  I  had  grown  up  in  such  utter 
isolation  from  even  the  faintest  affection  that 
there  was  scant  cause  for  wonder  in  the  fact 
that  I  was  ready  to  defend,  at  all  costs  and 
all  hazards,  the  interests  of  the  sole  creature 
I  had  ever  found  to  love. 

For  it  had  come  to  that.  As  I  walked 
down  the  hill-side  path,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
wild,  fierce  desire  to  keep  these  intruders  at 
bay,  and  to  defend  Ross  against  them — Ross, 
whom  they  had  come  to  rob  and  to  send  back 
to  China  !  I  paused  at  the  stile  when  I  reached 
It,  and,  leaning  my  arms  on  the  top,  with  a 
soft,  soughing  music  in  the  pines  behind,  the 
cheerful  lights  of  the  manor-windows  in  front, 
and  the  great,  starry  sky  overhead,  pondered 
the  problem — what  could  I  do  ?  Naturally 
enough,  no  answer  came.  Instead,  even  I 
had  sense  enough  to  see  that  I  could  do  noth- 
ing. There  was  Sylvy,  there  was  the  dead 
mother,  and  there  was  the  living  child ;  while 
Uncle  Kendall,  who  had  already  exceeded  the 
time  appointed  for  his  absence,  might  reach 
home  at  any  hour.  In  the  face  of  these  over- 
whelming odds,  what  hope  was  there  that  I 
— the  most  insignificant  of  creatures — could 
find  any  means  to  outwit  them  all,  and  secure 
to  Ross  his  rights  —  I  seriously  considered 
them  his  rights  —  which  were  so  gravely 
threatened  ?  What  difference  did  it  make 
to  me  that  the  woman  and  the  child  in  ques- 
tion were  Uncle  Kendall's  direct  descendants, 
while  Ross  was  only  a  distant  kinsman  ?  I 
thought  only  of  him.  I  fear  that  I  should 
have  thought  only  of  him  if  the  whole  Deca- 
logue had  been  arraypd  on  the  other  side. 

It  was  while  I  still  stood  under  the  starlit 
sky,  and  still  thought  of  many  a  wild,  im- 
practicable scheme — loath  to  enter  the  house, 
because  I  had  promised  Sylvy  to  bring  Ross 
to  her — that  I  was  startled  by  the  ring  of  a 
familiar  tread  advancing  quickly  toward  the 
stile.  Ross  was  coming  for  me  !  My  heart 
pave  a  great  leap — partly  from  the  joy  which 
his  coming  always  brought,  but  partly  also 
from  relief,  for  I  had  been  nervouslv  dreading 

7 


his  arrival  all  the  while  I  was  in  Sylvy's  cabin. 
That  I  had  no  high  sentiments  of  honor  my- 
self, I  think  my  story  amply  proves  ;  but  still 
I  could  understand  Ross,  and  I  felt  instinctive- 
ly that  all  the  chivalry  of  his  nature  would 
rise  up  for  that  pale,  dead  mother  and  her 
helpless  child,  if  he  saw  them.  Therefore,  my 
first  thought  was  one  of  relief  that  he  had  not 
seen  them. 

"  Ross  !  "  said  I,  putting  out  my  hand  and 
touching  him,  with  a  soft  laugh,  when  he  came 
to  the  stile. 

He  had  not  seen  me,  and  he  gave  a  great 
start. 

"  Beryl ! "  he  said.  "  Is  it  possible  this 
is  you  ?  I  was  just  coming  after  you.  What 
are  you  doing  here  all  by  yourself,  and  what 
has  kept  you  so  long  ?  " 

"  I  stopped  here  as  I  came  back  from 
Sylvy's  cabin,"  I  answered,  wondering  a  little 
if  my  voice  did  not  betray  what  I  had  seen  in 
Sylvy's  cabin.  "  It  is  so  beautiful  I  was  in 
no  hurry  to  go  in.  Did  you  ever  see  a  love- 
lier night,  Ross  ?  Look  at  that  splendid 
planet !  Is  it  Jupiter,  do  you  think  ?  And 
there  are  the  Pointers  and  the  Milky-Way, 
and—" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ross,  interrupting  my  vague 
astronomical  knowledge.  "  But  I  have  come 
for  you  in  haste.  Beryl.  Your  uncle  is  very 
ill,  and  wishes  to  see  you." 

"  Uncle  Kendall !  "  I  exclaimed.  It  was 
a  good  thing  wc  were  in  the  dark,  and  that 
he  could  not  see  my  start,  nor  the  pallor 
which  overspread  my  face.  "  I — this  is  very 
strange.    When  did  he  come,  Ross  ?  " 

"  He  was  in  the  house  when  I  reached  it 
two  hours  ago,"  Ross  answered.  "  They  told 
me  he  had  arrived  about  an  hour  before  that. 
He  sat  down  in  the  sitting-room  alone,  and 
when  I  came  in  I  found  him  fallen  over  with 
a  stroke  of  paralysis." 

"ORoss!" 

"  I  applied  some  remedies  myself,  and 
sent  post-haste  for  a  doctor,  who  came  much 
sooner  than  I  expected.  He  is  better  now — 
that  is,  he  can  speak  a  little,  and  be  asked  at 
once  for  his  lawyer  and  you." 

"Will  he  die,  Ross?"  I  asked,  in  a  whis- 
per. 

"  So  the  doctor  thinks,"  Ross  answered, 
gravely. 

After  that  I  said  nothing  more.  I  let  him 
help  me  over  the  stile,  and  walked  by  him  in 
utter  silence  toward  the  house.    Since  that 


94 


MY  STORY. 


night  I  have  never  trod  that  path  ;  but  I  re- 
member every  turn  of  it  better  than  I  re- 
member the  scenes  of  yesterday — I  remem- 
ber every  thing  connected  with  that  night,  the 
stars  which  were  brightly  glowing  overhead, 
the  soft  sighing  of  the  distant  pines,  the  crisp 
rustling  of  the  dead  leaves  under  our  feet,  the 
dark  outlines  of  the  house  cutting  against 
the  steel-blue  sky,  the  lights  gleaming  in  the 
windows,  even  the  very  spot  where  Koss  put 
out  his  hand  and  drew  mine  into  his  arm. 

"  Why  are  you  so  silent.  Beryl  ? "  he 
asked.  "Did  I  shock  you  with  my  news? 
And  you  are  trembling  all  over,  poor  little 
one  ?    Is  it  with  cold  ?  " 

With  cold !  Ah,  if  he  could  have  known 
— if  he  could  have  seen — why  I  was  trem- 
bling in  every  limb  like  an  aspen.  Robbery ! 
It  was  not  robbery  to  hold  my  tongue,  to  say 
nothing,  to  let  the  old  man  die  in  ignorance ; 
and  yet — I  clung  to  him,  quivering  all  over. 

"  No — I  am  not  cold,"  I  said.  "  It  is  be- 
cause I  am  nervous  that  I  cannot  keep  still. 
0  Ross,  do  you — do  you  know  what  Uncle 
Kendall  wants  with  me  ?  " 

"  Can  you  not  guess.  Beryl  ?  "  Ross  asked, 
gravely  yet  tenderly. 

After  that  nothing  more  was  said.  We 
entered  the  manor  in  the  rear,  and  passed  to 
the  sitting-room,  where  the  lawyer,  the  doc- 
tor, and  an  old  gentleman,  a  Mr.  Collins,  were 
comfortably  smoking  over  the  fire,  and  talk- 
ing the  current  news  of  the  day.  They  rose 
at  my  entrance,  and,  when  Ross  asked  if  there 
had  been  any  change  in  the  sick  man,  the 
doctor  answered  that  there  was  very  little  as 
yet.,  but  the  sooner  the  business  on  his  mind 
was  transacted,  the  better.  Then  Ross  led 
me  straight  into  his  chamber. 

It  is  not  likely  that  I  shall  ever  forget  the 
scene  upon  which  I  entered.  Indeed,  it  has 
been  one  of  the  nightmares  of  my  life.  For 
years  I  dreaded  to  sleep  lest  I  should  dream 
of  it,  lest  I  should  see  again — as  I  so  often 
did — the  twisted,  helpless  figure,  the  awful, 
distorted  face  which  met  my  gaze  when  I 
crossed  the  threshold  of  that  room.  My 
nerves  were  already  unstrung,  and  I  shrank 
back  piteously,  covering  my  eyes  with  my 
hands — but  Ross  led  me  on.  "  My  poor  dar- 
ling, you  must  come ! "  he  said,  in  a  whis- 
per. 

And  so  I  reached  the  bedside — so  I  stood 
shuddering  and  gazing  into  the  harsh  old  face 
transformed  so   hideously.     The  mouth  was 


wrenched  into  a  ghastly  and  horrible  grin — 
even  the  eyes  filled  me  with  terror  when  they 
looked  at  me.  I  dared  not  scream,  yet  I 
could  scarcely  restrain  the  inclination  to  do 
so  when  Ross  left  me  a  moment  and  went  to 
the  head  of  the  bed — bent  over  the  lips  striv- 
ing desperately  to  speak,  and  uttering  only 
inarticulate  sounds  terrible  to  hear. 

"  Beryl  is  here,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Will  you 
speak  to  her  ?  or  shall  I  ?  " 

After  an  effort,  there  came  an  answer 
which  seemed  to  mean  "  You." 

Then  Ross  held  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  I 
came  tremblingly  nearer,  and  placed  my  own 
in  it. 

"  Your  uncle  wishes  to  ask  you.  Beryl," 
he  said,  "  whether  you  are  willing  to  marry 
me,  and  to  trust  your  interests  hereafter  in 
my  hands  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  I  answered,  addressing  the 
eyes  which  were  fastened  on  me,  and  from 
which  I  could  not  remove  my  own.  "  I  am 
willing  to  marry  Ross.  I — I  have  promised 
to  do  so." 

Then  the  distorted  lips,  the  paralyzed 
tongue  made  another  effort,  and,  after  a  min- 
ute, wrenched  out  in  broken,  guttural  sounds, 
the  word  "  Now  ?  " 

I  did  not  understand,  and  looked  at  Ross. 
He  seemed  a  little  puzzled  himself. 

"  Now  ?  "  he  repeated.  Then — as  he  seemed 
to  catch  the  drift  of  some  inarticulate  sounds 
the  helpless  man  was  making  —  he  added, 
quickly  :  "Do  you  mean  to  ask  Beryl  if  she 
is  willing  to  be  married  now  ?  " 

The  eyes  brightened  and  the  head  nodded. 
Evidently  this  was  what  he  did  mean. 

"  That  is  for  Beryl  to  answer,"  said  Ross, 
turning  to  me  with  a  sudden  flush  on  his 
cheeks,  and  a  sudden  light  in  his  dark  eyes. 
"  I  am  ready,  sir.     If  Beryl  says  yes — " 

But  I  seemed  to  choke.  I  tore  my  hand 
suddenly  from  him,  and  turned  away — /say 
yes !  How  could  I,  oh,  how  could  I?  It  was 
not  the  shyness  of  a  timid  maiden  which  made 
me  shrink  from  those  tender,  passionate  eyes, 
that  close-clasping,  eager  hand.  God  knows 
I  might  have  been  fourscore  for  all  I  thought 
of  maiden  shyness  then.  It  was  a  sudden,  hor- 
rible sense  of  the  deceit  that  enveloped  me — 
it  was  the  memory  of  the  dead  woman  and 
the  sleeping  child  in  Sylvy's  cabin !  I  was 
willing  to  do  any  thing  that  the  princely  for- 
tune,  which  that  poor  wreck  on  the  bed  had 
scraped  and  toiled  and  denied  himself  even 


MY  STORY. 


95 


the  luxuries  of  lifb  to  amass,  might  come  to 
Ross — willing  even  to  hold  my  tongue  and 
let  the  sinful  soul  pass  away  without  one  op- 
portunity to  say,  "  Lord,  forgive  me  as  I  have 
forgiven  ! " — but  all  suddenly  I  felt  that  my 
soul  was  stained  by  this  silence,  and  that  my 
hand  was  not  worthy  to  touch  the  one  which 
Ross  held  out  to  me. 

I  turned  away,  and,  walking  blindly  across 
the  room,  dropped  down  upon  a  window-seat. 
Thither,  in  a  minute,  Ross  followed  mc. 

"  Beryl,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  in  which  pain 
and  surprise  seemed  struggling  together, 
"  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you  angry  with 
me  ?  I  know  it  is  hard  for  you  to  come  so 
suddenly  and  so  irrevocably  to  one  whom  you 
know  so  little — and  /  should  not  have  dared 
to  ask  it.  But  he  is  dying  —  the  old  man 
yonder — and  you  remember  he  said,  on  that 
first  evening,  that  he  wished  to  see  us  mar- 
ried before  he  made  his  will." 

At  these  words,  I  raised  my  face.  It  came 
to  me  like  a  flash,  that  every  thing  hinged  on 
the  marriage.  Until  that  took  place,  the  will 
would  not  be  signed  which  would  make  Ross 
master  of  Kendall.  I  looked  up  with  startled 
eyes  into  the  face  looking  down  upon  me. 

"  Don't  you  think  Uncle  Kendall  would 
defer  the  marriage,  Ross  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Don't 
you  think  he  might  sign  the  will  without — 
without  that  ?  " 

"  He  might,"  said  Ross,  "  though  I  should 
not  like  to  ask  it  of  him — but  I  am  not  think- 
ing of  the  will.  I  am  thinking  of  you,  Beryl. 
Why  do  you  hesitate? — why  will  you  not 
trust  me  ?  Is  it  because  you  have  not  learned 
to  love  me  yet  ?  Is  it  because  you  were  mis- 
taken—  out  there  on  the  hill  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

"  Mistaken  ! "  Ah,  if  he  could  have  read 
my  heart !  "  0  Ross,  Ross,"  I  cried,  "  I  love 
you  better  than  anybody  in  the  world !  I 
have  never  loved  anybody  but  you  in  my 
whole  life.  I  would  die  for  you,  if  I  could  ; 
but  I — oh,  I  cannot  marry  you  !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  never,  Beryl  ?  "  asked  he, 
growing  pale. 

"  No — oh,  no,"  answered  I,  with  feverish 
eagerness.  "  I  mean  I  cannot  do  it  now — to- 
night." 

"  Why  not,  if  you  love  me  as  you  say  you 
do?" 

"  Because — oh,  because  I  am  not  worthy 
of  you,  Ross." 

"  Not  worthy  ! "     He  smiled  as  he  took  ! 


my  hands.  "My  pretty,  foolish  darling,  is 
that  all?" 

All !  If  he  could  have  known  what  that 
"  all "  comprised!  I  looked  at  him,  and  won- 
dered he  did  not  see  it  in  my  face — surely  not 
the  face  of  a  girl  shrinking  only  because  she 
loved. 

"  You  said  this  afternoon  that  some  one — 
some  other  woman  —  deceived  you  once,"  I 
said,  nervously.  "  I — 0  Ross,  I  may  be  doing 
the  same,  for  all  you  know." 

"  You !  "  he  repeated,  incredulously.  "  You 
— with  that  child-face,  those  angel-eyes  ?  If 
you  swore  it,  Beryl,  I  should  not  believe  it." 

"Not  you,  then;  but  —  but  some  one 
else." 

"  My  darling,  this  is  nonsense  !  "  he  said, 
gravely.  "  You  are  tormenting  yourself  about 
some  childish  fancy  or  scruple — but  there  is 
not  time  for  such  things  now,  Beryl.  Death 
will  not  wait  for  your  decision.  It  is  ad- 
vancing yonder  very  fast.  You  must  decide 
quickly  what  you  will  do." 

"  Ross,"  said  I,  eagerly,  "  if  he  died  with- 
out signing  any  will,  to  whom  would  the  prop- 
erty go  ?  " 

"To  the  heir-at-law,"  Ross  answered, 
"  that  would  be  yourself.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 
he  went  on  quickly.  "  Do  you  think  that  I 
am  urging  you  to  marry  me  on  account  of  the 
will  ?  If  you  can  do  me  such  injustice  as 
that,  Beryl—" 

But  I  interrupted  him  hastily.  "  I  did  not 
think  of  it  for  a  moment,"  I  said.  "  I  only 
asked  because  I  wanted  to  know — the  heir- 
at-law  means  the  nearest  relation,  does  it 
not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  he,  looking  at  me  grave- 

ly. 

"  Then,  if  there  were  others  nearer  than  I, 
they  would  inherit  it,  would  they  not  ?  " 

"  But  there  are  no  relations  nearer  than 
you." 

"Supposing,  though  —  only  supposing  — 
that  there  were,  could  they  break  a  will  after 
it  had  been  signed?  " 

"Not  under  ordinary  circumstances,"  said 
he.  "  But  why  do  you  ask  such  questions  ? 
Beryl,  if  you  are  thinking  that  this  fortune 
might  be  yours — " 

"  I  am  thinking  that  I  will  marry  you  this 
moment,  Ross,"  I  said,  with  almost  fevcrisk 
eagerness.  "I  am  sorry  that  I  have  wasted 
so  much  time  ;  but  I  did  not  know — I  did  not 
understand.   If  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  marry 


96 


MY  STORY. 


you  before  the  will  is  signed,  I — I  will  do  it 
at  once.     Come — quick  !  " 

When  Uncle  Kendall  heard  that  I  had 
consented  to  the  marriage,  he  seemed  pleased, 
and  desired  that  Mr.  Collins  might  be  sum- 
moned at  once.  "  He  is  a  magistrate,"  Ross 
said,  in  answer  to  my  glance.  "  The  legal 
ceremony  is  all  that  your  uncle  desires.  Of 
course,  the  religious  one  can  be  performed 
afterward,  if  you  desire  it." 

"  I  do  not  care,"  I  answered,  sincerely 
enough.  It  would  have  been  strange  if  I  had 
cared,  considering  that  at  that  time  of  my 
life  I  knew  no  more  of  religion  than  that  it 
was  a  vague  abstraction,  of  which  Aunt  Ken- 
dall sometimes  predicated  (mostly  when  she 
was  particularly  out  of  sorts  and  out  of  tem- 
per) that  it  was  all  the  comfort  she  had,  and 
which  was  supposed  to  take  people  to  church 
on  Sundays  when  they  had  any  fine  clothes 
in  which  to  go.  /  never  had  ;  so  I  stayed  at 
home,  and  was  edified  by  scraps  of  cynical 
atheism  from  Uncle  Kendall's  bitter  old  lips, 
which  I  carefully  treasured  and  pondered 
upon. 

Mr.  Collins  came  in  with  the  lawyer. 
Mr.  Kendall  had  requested  him  to  be  in  readi- 
ness for  such  an  event  (as  the  marriage,  not 
the  death)  ten  days  before,  I  heard  the  lat- 
ter explaining  to  Ross ;  so  he  had  the  will 
drawn  up  in  readiness  for  signing,  and  the 
license  in  his  pocket.  "  The  sooner  it  is  all 
over  the  better,"  the  doctor  said,  as  he  turned 
away  from  an  observation  of  his  patient. 

So,  in  that  bare,  ill-lighted  chamber,  with 
the  distorted  face  of  the  dying  man  before  our 
eyes,  with  the  doctor  standing  by  counting 
his  feeble  pulse,  with  Aunt  Kendall  sniffling 
a  little  (purely  because  it  was  the  proper 
thing  to  do)  in  the  background,  and  with  the 
lawyer  now  and  then  rustling  his  papers,  Ross 
and  I  were  married.  Surely  a  ghastlier  bridal 
never  took  place  !  Surely  a  bride  never  stood 
more  utterly  and  desolately  alone  at  such  an 
hour !  I  did  not  think  of  it  then,  however. 
Never  having  known  care  or  love,  how  could 
I  miss  it  ?  I  had  Ross.  That  was  enough 
for  me.  0  my  God,  that  would  be  enough 
for  me,  I  am  often  tempted  to  think,  even 
within  the  gates  of  Thy  paradise  ! 

After  the  marriage — after  Mr.  Collins  had 
uttered  those  words  which,  even  from  his  lips, 
sounded  strange  and  solemn,  "I  pronounce 
you  man  and  wife  " — there  was  no  rush  of 
congratulation  and  compliment,   such  as  I 


have  seen  since  then  at  weddings,  where  love 
had  a  much  smaller  place  than  with  you  and 
me,  my  poor  Ross  !  Mr.  Collins  shook  hands 
and  muttered  a  few  words,  the  lawyer  and 
doctor  did  the  same ;  I  heard  afterward  that 
the  latter  described  the  marringe  all  over  the 
country-side  as  "  the  most  mercenary  bargain 
he  bad  ever  witnessed."  Aunt  Kendall  ad- 
vanced and  shook  her  head  over  us.  "  Xo 
good'll  ever  come  of  it,"  she  said.  "  What's 
begun  in  sorrow  isn't  likely  to  end  in  joy.  I 
never  saw  the  like  of  such  a  wedding  in  all 
my  born  days — never ! " 

Then  certain  inarticulate  sounds  from  the 
bed  signified  to  all  of  us  that  Uncle  Kendall 
was  impatient  even  of  this  delay.  "  The 
will !"  we  heard  him  trying  to  say,  "  the  will ! " 

Then  the  lawyer  produced  and  read  aloud 
this  important  document.  I  tried  to  listen 
and  to  grasp  its  meaning  —  for,  was  it  not 
necessary  that  I  should  do  so? — but,  listen 
as  I  would,  the  legal  jargon  was  to  me  unin- 
telligible. I  could  make  nothing  of  it.  My 
head  was  in  a  whirl.  Did  it  give  Kendall  to 
Ross  ?  Did  it  provide  that  he  should  never 
need  to  go  back  to  China  again  ?  I  put  up 
my  hand  and  caught  his,  resting  on  the  back 
of  the  chair  in  which  he  had  placed  me. 

"Ross,"  I  whispered,  as  he  bent  down, 
"  does  it  give  every  thing  to  you  ?  " 

"  Every  thing,"  he  answered,  quietly. 

Then  I  was  satisfied.  All  that  I  desired 
would  soon  be  accomplished.  When  the  will 
was  signed  and  sealed  in  the  presence  of  the 
witnesses  there  assembled,  all  which  seemed 
to  me  trembling  in  the  balance  but  a  little 
while  before,  would  be  secured  to  Ross.  He 
would  be  rich  and  free,  and  could  care  as 
generously  as  he  pleased — far  more  generous- 
ly than  that  stern  old  dying  man  would  have 
done — for  the  boy  with  the  flushed,  smiling 
face  and  tangled,  curling  hair,  asleep  in  Syl- 
vy's  cabin.  I  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  laid 
my  cheek  softly  against  the  hand  resting  so 
near.  It  was  a  very  toil-worn  hand ;  and  I 
remember  thinking,  with  a  thrill  of  pleasure, 
that,  after  that  night,  it  would  never  need  to 
toil  again.  From  first  to  last,  God  is  my  wit- 
ness, Ross,  I  thought  then,  as  I  think  now, 
only  of  you ! 

After  the  will  was  read,  the  signing  took 
place.  First,  the  paralyzed  hand  of  the  dying 
man  was  guided  over  the  letters  of  his  name. 
Then  the  witnesses  appended  their  signatures. 
After  this — which  I  watched  breathlessly — 


MY   STORY. 


97 


the  lawyer  gravely  shook  hands  with  Ross. 
"A  very  fine  iuhcvitance,  indeed,  Mr.  Ken- 
dall !  "  he  said.  But  Ross  answered  nothiug. 
I  think  he  felt  that  these  congratulations  in  a 
death-chamber  were  out  of  place. 

Then,  while  we  still  stood  grouped  about 
the  bed — watching  the  flickering  breath  come 
and  go,  and  waiting  for  the  end — a  step  which 
I  knew  suddenly  sounded  in  the  room  beyond. 
How  I  knew  it — how  I  guessed  that  it  was 
Sylvy,  who  had  heard  of  her  master's  illness, 
and  was  coming  to  him — I  cannot  tell.  I  only 
remember  that  I  sprang  suddenly  away  from 
Ross — I  seem  to  see  yet,  as  in  a  dream,  his 
look  of  surprise — and  rushed  across  the  floor. 
With  all  my  haste,  I  was  only  in  time  to  meet 
the  old  woman  on  the  threshold. 

ir. 

"Go  back,  Sylvy!"  I  said,  catching  her 
arm.  "  Go  back  !  You  are  too  late.  Uncle 
Kendall  is  dying  !  " 

"  Dyin'  or  not,  Miss  Beryl,  I'm  comin'  to 
him  ! "  she  answered,  sternly.  "  You  nor  no- 
body else  shall  keep  me  back  when  I've  got 
to  speak  for  her  that's  gone,  and  the  helpless 
orphin  she  lef '.  It's  no  thanks  to  you  I  heard 
about  him,"  she  added,  fiercely,  "  an'  it's  not 
you  shall  keep  me  away  now." 

"  But  he  is  dying — he  is  speechless.  What 
good  can  it  do  ?  " 

"  Speechless  or  not,  he  shall  hear  ole  Syl- 
vy ! "  said  she.  "  You  might  as  well  stand 
out  o'  my  path.  Miss  Beryl — I'm  comin'  in. 
The  Lord  has  sent  me  to  speak  for  them  tliat 
has  nobody  else  to  speak  for  'em — and  I  am 
goin'  to  do  it !  " 

"  Xo,  you  are  not  going  to  do  it !  "  said  I, 
between  my  set  teeth.  We  were  standing 
face  to  face  in  the  door -way  —  I  tall  and 
strong,  she  small  and  frail — and,  as  I  said 
those  words,  I  put  a  hand  on  each  of  her 
shoulders,  and  bore  her  back.  It  was  so  sud- 
denly and  swiftly  done,  that  she  had  not  time 
to  resist  or  protest.  She  gave  way  like  a 
reed,  and  I  whirled  her — how,  I  have  not  an 
idea  —  through  the  anteroom  in  which  she 
stood,  clear  across  the  passage,  and  into  a 
sort  of  nondescript  house-keeper's  room,  where 
Aunt  Kendall  mostly  sat.  There  I  deposited 
her  in  a  chair. 

"  You  shall  not  go  in  there  to  disturb  a 
dying  man  and  make  a  family  scandal  before 
all  those  strangers  ! "  I  said  then  —  slightly 
breathless  myself.    "  The  woman  is  dead — 


you  know  that — and  the  child  shall  be  cared 
for  better  than  he  would  ever  have  done. 
That  ought  to  satisfy  you  !  " 

"  But  it  don't  satisfy  me  !  "  cried  she,  as 
soon  as  she  could  find  her  voice.  "  It  don't 
satisfy  me  —  an'  it  never  will  satisfy  me! 
Every  thing  ought  to  belong  to  him  —  the 
blessed  chile — an'  not  to  you  nor  that  sweet- 
heart of  yours  neither.  It's  a  sin  an'  sliame 
to  see  him  'at  has  a  right  to  be  here,  turned 
out  for  them  'at  has  no  right — an'  so  I'll  say, 
as  long  as  the  Lord  gives  me  breath  !" 

"  You  are  a  most  unreasonable  old  wom- 
an !  "  said  I.  "  Did  /  make  Uncle  Kendall 
leave  his  fortune  away  from  his  grandchild  ? 
He  knew  he  had  a  grandchild,  didn't  he  ? 
He  hasn't  left  it  to  mc,  if  that  will  gratify  you." 

"  Then  he's  left  it  to  one  with  less  right 
than  you,"  said  she,  sullenly. 

This  I  did  not  choose  to  notice.  "  Go 
back  to  your  house,"  I  said.  "  You  are  talk- 
ing folly.  The  child  shall  be  cared  for,  I 
promise  you  that !  " 

"  I  should  like  for  him  'at  has  a  right  to 
promise,  to  tell  me  that,''-  she  said. 

"You  shall  not  go  near  him!"  I  cried; 
but  as  I  spoke  the  door  opened,  and  Ross 
walked  in. 

At  the  first  sight  of  him  I  felt  my  heart 
die  within  me.  Somehow  I  knew  what  was 
coming  then.  If  I  had  had  my  senses  about 
me,  I  should  have  gone  forward  at  once  to 
meet  him  and  draw  him  from  the  room ;  I 
should  have  told  him  the  story  first  myself  at 
any  cost;  but,  at  the  moment  of  emergency, 
my  self-possession  deserted  me — as  self-pos- 
session mostly  does  when  it  is  needed — and  I 
stood  pale  and  silent,  while  he  crossed  the 
floor  and  came  up  to  me. 

*'  My  darling,"  he  said,  taking  my  hands, 
"  it  is  all  over.     He  is  dead  ! " 

"  Is  he  ?  "  said  I,  with  a  gasp.  Fool  as 
I  was,  and  horrible  as  it  may  sound  to  those 
who  discreetly  bury  in  silence  the  involun- 
tary emotions  of  their  hearts,  this  news  came 
to  me  with  a  thrill  of  relief.  I  do  not  remem- 
ber that  I  even  tried  to  be  sorry;  that  I  even 
gave  one  thought  to  the  cheerless  life  that 
had  ended — to  the  sinful  soul  that  had  gone. 
I  only  thought  of  Ross.  Whatever  I  had 
done,  the  result  was  gained.  He  was  master 
of  Kendall  now.  None  could  gainsay  that 
last  will  and  testament  signed  and  witnessed 
scarce  an  hour  before, 

"  So  he  is  dead  !  "  said  I,  shuddering  a  lit- 


98 


MY  STORY. 


tic.  Then  I  drew  my  hands  from  the  kind 
clasp  which  held  them,  and  walked  over  to 
where  Sylvy  stood. 

"  You  hear  that ! "  I  said,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  Xow  go !  After  a  while  I  will  speak  to  Mr. 
Kendall,  and  every  thing  shall  be  done  that  is 
right ;  but  you  must  go  ! " 

I  could  not  help  a  certain  imploring  ring 
in  my  voice  despite  its  tone  of  authority ;  and 
this  she  caught.  She  gave  me  a  quick  glance 
of  mingled  surprise  and  defiance  out  of  her 
keen  black  eyes. 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Beryl," 
she  said,  dryly ;  "but  I'll  speak  to  the  new 
master  myself,  since  I  didn't  git  leave  to  speak 
to  the  ole  one." 

"  Sylvy ! "  cried  I,  grasping  her  dress  as 
she  strove  to  pass  me. 

But  she  broke  away  and  walked  up  to 
Ross,  who  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug, 
looking  surprised  at  this  scene. 

"I  ax  your  pardon,  master,"  said  she, 
dropping  her  old-fashioned  courtesy,  "  but 
Miss  Beryl's  bin  a  tellin'  me  that  ole  Mass 
Kendall's  lef '  all  his  property  to  you ;  an'  I 
thought  I'd  make  bold  to  come  an'  tell  you 
that  his  daughter's  a  lyin'  dead  in  my  cabin, 
an'  that  his  grandchile's  there  too,  with  no- 
body to  see  after  him  but  an  ole  nigger  like 
me." 

"What!"  said  Ross.  It  was  scant  won- 
der that  he  was  startled.  Such  news  at  such 
a  time  would  have  been  likely  to  startle  any 
man. 

"  Are  you  mad  ? "  he  asked,  when  the 
statement  had  been  repeated.  "  What  is  the 
meaning  of  such  a  story  as  this  ? — Has  she 
been  telling  it  to  yon,  Beryl?"  he  went  on, 
turning  to  me.    "  If  so,  what  does  she  mean  ?  " 

"I  means  what  I  say,"  answered  Sylvy; 
for  my  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth. 
"  Go  to  my  house  an'  look  fur  yourself,  if  you 
don't  believe  me,  or  ax  Miss  Beryl  here.  Sfie 
can  tell  you,  fur  she  seen  Mass  Kendall's 
daughter  afore  she  died." 

"Beryl!"  said  Ross.  There  are  no  words 
in  which  I  can  express  the  mingled  amaze- 
ment, incredulity,  and  appeal  of  his  tone. 
Then,  after  a  minute's  long  silence,  "  Beryl, 
what  does  she  mean  ?  What  falsehood  or 
absurdity  is  this?  Your  uncle's  daughter 
died  long  ago." 

"  She  died  this  evenin' ! "  cried  Sylvy,  with 
energy,  before  I  could  speak.  "  Them  that 
said  she  died  long  ago  was  liars,  that  wanted 


I 


what  should  a  bin  hers.  She's  a  lyin'  in  my 
cabin  dead  this  minute.  Send  old  Mis'  Ken- 
dall,  send  Mr.  Collins,  send  Dr.  Burton.  They 
all  knowed  her  when  she  was  young.  Let 
them  say  if  it  ain't  true  an'  if  I'm  a  liar ! " 

Her  passionate,  vehement  voice  carried 
conviction  with  it.  I  saw  that  in  his  face 
even  before  I  heard  it  in  his  voice,  when,  after 
a  short  pause,  he  said,  sharply : 

"  If  this  is — if  this  can  possibly  be  true, 
why  did  you  not  come  and  tell  it  before  your 
master  died  ?  " 

"  An'  how  was  I  to  know  that  he  was  a 
dyin'  ? — how  was  I  even  to  know  that  he  had 
got  back  home  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Nobody  was 
goin'  to  come  an'  tell  ole  Sylvy.  Miss  Beryl, 
she  knowed  who  was  in  my  cabin,  but  instead 
of  sayin'  a  word  fur  'era,  she  turned  me  back 
from  the  door  when  I  come  to  tell  ole  master 
myself." 

"  Beryl ! "  said  Ross  again.  This  time  it 
was  a  hoarse  cry,  and,  turning  sharply  away 
from  the  woman  before  him,  he  came  up  to 
me. 

"  Beryl ! "  he  said,  taking  my  hands  and 
gazing  at  me  with  passionate,  wistful  eyes, 
which  seemed  to  pierce  my  soul ;  "  for  God's 
sake,  tell  me — is  this  true  ?  " 

What  could  I  say  ?  I  do  not  think  I 
would  have  hesitated  to  lie,  if  lying  would 
have  served  any  purpose ;  but,  even  through 
the  mist  of  my  reckless  folly,  I  had  sense 
enough  to  know  that  facts  were  too  strong 
against  me  for  that  resource.  I  had  instinct 
enough  to  feel  that  if  I  wished  to  make  utter 
shipwreck  of  Ross's  love  and  respect,  I  had 
only  to  add  deliberate  falsehood  to  criminal 
silence.  Therefore,  I  could  only  look  at  him 
— at  the  face  I  loved  so  dearly  growing  white 
and  stern  before  my  gaze — with  piteous,  im- 
ploring eyes,  conscious  the  while  that  my  heart 
was  rising  into  my  throat — so  young  a  heart, 
0  Ross,  and  so  untaught,  that  I  sometimes 
think  you  might  have  been  more  patient,  even 
with  its  deceit ! 

I  saw  that  he  read  my  answer  in  my  face, 
and  that  he  would  ask  no  other — then.  He 
dropped  my  hands  suddenly,  and,  turning 
away,  walked  back  to  Sylvy. 

"  Come ! "  he  said  to  her  in  a  hard,  cold 
voice.  "  Let  me  go  and  prove  this  story  of 
yours ! " 

She  followed  him  readily  enough,  and  they 
passed  out  of  the  room  together — leaving  me 
alone.     For  a  moment  I  stood  bewildered. 


MY   STORY. 


99 


Had  Koss  left  me  like  that?  Ross! — for 
whom  I  had  doue  every  thing  ?  Then  I 
rushed  after  him — overtaking  him  in  the  pas- 
sage beyonJ. 

"Ross,"  I  cried,  catching  his  arm  implor- 
ingly, "what  are  you  going  to  do?  —  why 
should  you  care  so  much  for  this  news  ?  The 
will  is  safe.     Every  thing  is  yours !  " 

He  turned  and  looked  at  me.  I  think 
sometimes  tliat  in  my  grave  I  shall  remember 
that  look.     Then  he  shook  off  my  hand. 

"  Go  back.  Beryl,"  he  said,  in  a  strange 
sort  of  voice.  "  I  will  come  to  you  after  a 
while — but  go  back  now." 

"Ross,  I  —  I  should  like  to  came  with 
you." 

"It  is  no  place  for  you,"  he  said.  Then 
he  led  me — gently,  but  alas !  not  tenderly — 
back  to  the  room  I  had  left,  closed  the  door, 
and  went  his  way. 

For  a  minute  I  was  stunned.  Then — well, 
I  do  not  remember  much  after  that  until  I 
seemed  to  rouse  out  of  a  wild  passion  of  sobs 
to  find  Aunt  Kendall  standing  over  me,  a 
glass  of  cordial  in  her  hand,  and  an  awed, 
frightened  look  on  her  meek,  commonplace 
face. 

Of  what  she  said  I  have  little  more  recol- 
lection than  if  her  words  had  been  water  and 
my  mind  a  sieve.  I  only  remember  that  she 
had  been  sent  by  "  Mr.  Kendall "  to  look  after 
me,  to  put  me  to  bed,  and  to  see  that  I  rested 
— and  that  I  refused  absolutely  to  be  looked 
after,  to  go  to  bed,  or  to  rest.  I  demanded 
to  know  where  Ross  was;  but  when  I  heard 
that  he  was  superintending  the  removal  of 
the  dead  body  from  Sylvy's  cabin  to  the 
manor,  I  asked  no  more.  I  only  turned  with 
a  look  that  hushed  even  the  garrulous  com- 
ments on  her  lips. 

"  I  can  hear  none  of  that  now,"  I  said. 
"Go  to  bed.  I  shall  wait  here  till  Ross 
comes.    He  cannot  be  long." 

But  he  was  long — wearily,  terribly  long. 
Shall  I  ever  forget  the  watches  of  that  terrible 
night  ?  I  did  not  dare  to  seek  him  again 
after  the  repulse  I  had  received  ;  so  I  could 
do  nothing  but  wait — pacing  the  floor  most 
of  the  time  in  fevered  restlessness,  and  listen- 
ing with  heart-sick  expectation  to  every  step 
which  sounded  in  the  passage,  to  every  one 
of  the  sounds  with  which  the  old  house  seemed 
full,  the  strange  tide  of  life  which  Death  al- 
ways brings  in  his  train.  It  must  have  been 
very  near  daylight  when,  overcome  by  exhaus- 


tion and  weariness,  I  fell  asleep  in  a  large 
chair  before  the  fire  ;  and,  when  I  waked  with 
a  start,  Ross  was  standing  before  me. 

He  looked  pale,  haggard,  and  very  grave, 
I  thought,  as  the  morning  light  streamed  over 
his  face ;  but  his  first  words  were  full  of  con- 
cern for  me. 

"  Beryl,"  he  said,  "  is  it  possible  that  you 
have  been  here  all  night  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  I,  looking  at  him  blank- 
ly, numbly,  as  it  were.  I  remembered  every 
thing  perfectly — as  perfectly  as  if  I  had  not 
slept — but  somehow  my  passionate  emotion 
had  all  died  away,  and  a  great  apathy  had 
come  over  me  instead. 

"But  why  did  you  do  such  a  thing?" 
asked  he,  bringing  a  shawl  from  another  part 
of  the  room  and  wrapping  it  around  my  un- 
resisting figure.  "  It  is  enough  to  make  you 
ill,  I  thought  you  had  gone  to  bed  long 
ago." 

"Aunt  Kendall  came  forme,"  I  said,  "but 
I  did  not  choose  to  go.  You  said  you  were 
coming  back,  and  I — I  thought  I  would  wait." 

"  But  did  you  think  I  meant  you  to  wait 
for  me  all  night  ?  "  he  asked.  "  How  could 
you  be  so  foolish  ?  It  will  surely  make  you 
ill." 

"  Oh,  I  am  strong,"  said  I,  with  a  little 
weary  shiver.  And  God  knows  this  was  true 
enough,  else  I  should  have  died  long  since  of 
sheer  pain  and  hopelessness. 

Then  for  a  minute  there  was  silence. 
Ross  stood  and  looked  at  me.  I  sat  and 
looked  at  the  dying  fire.  The  cold,  gray  day- 
light streamed  in  through  the  unshuttered 
windows,  a  cock  was  crowing  in  the  yard 
without ;  I  even  remember  that  somebody 
walked  across  the  floor  of  the  room  over- 
head, and  I  speculated  vaguely  concerning 
who  it  was.     Then : 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  here,"  Ross 
said,  abruptly.  "  I  came  in  for  a  little  quiet 
— for  a  little  time  to  think — but  perhaps  it  s 
as  well  that  we  should  understand  each  other 
at  once.  I  have  something  to  ask  you. 
Beryl." 

"Well!"  said  I,  faintly.  I  knew  what 
was  coming,  but  I  scarcely  shrunk.  Only — it 
is  a  good  thing  to  think  that  there  are  some 
minutes  of  life  which  we  shall  never  have  to 
live  over ;  and  that  is  one  of  them. 

"  Well,"  he  echoed,  after  a  second — and 
his  very  lips  seemed  to  grow  pale  with  the  ef- 
fort of  speaking — "  I  want  to  ask  if  it  is  true, 


100 


MY  STORY. 


this  horrible  story,  that  you  linow — you,  Beryl 
— of  the  dying  daughter  who  had  come  to 
seek  her  father's  protection  for  her  child,  and 
that,  standing  by  that  father's  death-bed,  see- 
ing him  bequeath  his  fortune  to  a  stranger, 
you  uttered  not  one  word  to  warn  him  of  the 
heir  who  was  so  near — of  the  grandchild 
whom  he  was  wronging  so  deeply  by  such  a 
will  ? " 

"  Have  you  not  Sylvy's  word  for  it  ? " 
asked  I,  gathering  myself  together  in  the 
chair,  and  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  embers 
on  the  hearth. 

"  Sylvy's  word  ! "  he  repeated.  "  What  is 
Sylvy's  word  to  me  ?  What  is  the  word  of 
anybody  in  the  world  in  comparison  with,  or 
arrayed  against,  yours?  Beryl" — he  came 
suddenly  forward  and  took  my  passive  hands 
into  his  eager  clasp — "say  something  to  me! 
Tell  me  it  is  not  so !  Tell  me  that  it  is  a  lie 
or  a  mistake ;  tell  me  that  it  is  any  thing 
sooner  than  true,  and  God  knows  I  love  you 
so  well  that  I  shall  believe  you  in  the  face  of 
every  proof  against  you!" 

Even  yet  I  hear  the  thrill  of  imploring 
passion  in  his  voice.  Even  yet  my  tears  fall 
heavily  to  realize  how  much  he  must  have 
loved  the  woman  to  whom  he  spoke  like  that. 
Poor  Ross !  It  was  hard  on  him  when  my 
dull,  mechanical  answer  came — spoken  as  if  I 
cared  so  little  for  his  pleading  or  his  pain. 

"  But  I  cannot  tell  you  any  thing  except 
that  it  is  true — quite  true.  I  knew  the  whole 
story,  and  I  said  nothing ! " 

"  But  why  ?  Why  did  you  not  speak  even 
tome?" 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  a  little.  Such  a 
question  seemed  so  foolish.  ''  Because  I 
wanted  the  will  signed,"  I  answered. 

Then  he  let  go  my  hands — suffered  them 
to  drop  out  of  his  clasp  as  if  he  had  no  longer 
need  or  care  to  hold  them. 

"  You  acknowledge  that ! "  he  said.  "  You 
— such  a  mere  child — to  love  money  so !  You 
to  plot  for  it  in  such  a  manner  as  this  ! " 

This  charge,  from  the  very  bitterness  of 
its  injustice,  stung  me  out  of  my  apathetic 
calm. 

"I  thought  of  you!"  I  cried  out — "of 
you  only,  of  you  all  the  time !  I  wanted  the 
fortune  for  i/om,  Ross.  How  can  you  think  I 
wanted  it  for  myself?  " 

"  How  can  I  think  otherwise  ?  "  he  asked, 
coldly  and  hardly.  "It  is  true  you  secured 
the  fortune  to  me,  but  was  it  not  because  you 


could  in  no  other  way  secure  it  to  yourself? 
Do  you  fancy  I  do  not  understand  now  why 
you  only  consented  to  marry  me  when  you 
heard  that  the  will  depended  on  your  doing 
so,  and  that,  without  a  will,  the  property 
would  go  to  the  heir-at-law?  I  was  fool 
enough  to  think  you  cared  for  me  then.  I  did 
not  understand  who  the  heir-at-law  was,  you 
see,  or  how  your  only  hope  of  gaining  the 
estate  was  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  me.  I  have 
thought  it  all  over  until  it  has  almost  mad- 
dened me ! "  he  went  on,  turning  away,  and 
beginning  to  pace  the  floor  with  a  quick,  resy 
less  motion.  "It  seems  so  impossible — and 
yet  it  is  so  plain !  Such  a  child — and  w  ith 
the  very  face  of  an  angel — to  have  learned 
the  lesson  of  her  sex  so  soon  and  so  well ! 
And  /,  who  should  have  known  better,  to  be 
so  entrapped,"  he  added,  with  a  low,  unmirth- 
ful  laugh — "/,  who  had  known  my  mother, 
and  that  other  woman  who  looked  at  me  with 
eyes  almost  as  frank  as  yours,  and  jilted  me 
to  marry  another  man  when  she  found  that  I 
was  poor.  Unhappily,  you  cannot  do  that !  " 
he  said,  stopping  again  before  me. 

"  Ross ! "  said  I,  hoarsely.  My  lips  seemed 
dry  and  parched.  It  was  like  a  horrible 
nightmare.  Ross  to  believe  that  I  only  mar- 
ried him  to  secure  the  fortune !  I  could  al- 
most have  laughed  at  the  grotesque  absurdity 
of  the  thought. 

•'  How  you  shrunk  from  me,"  he  went  on, 
"when  I  first  spoke  of  our  immediate  mar- 
riage !  I  cannot  forget  that  gesture — it  was 
full  of  greater  significance  than  a  hundred 
words.  Then  —  afterward  —  how  you  forced 
yourself  to  the  sacrifice  because  it  was  your 
only  road  to  wealth  !  And  now,  with  all  your 
youth  and  all  your  beauty,  you  are  tied  to  a 
poor  man!" 

"  Ross,"  I  cried,  "  are  you  mad  ? — what  do 
you  mean?  The  will!  —  you  said  the  will 
could  not  be  set  aside ! " 

" Except  by  the  legatee"  he  answered,  cold- 
ly; "but  I  have  already  instructed  your  un- 
cle's lawyer  to  draw  up  the  necessary  papers 
for  making  over  the  estate  to  its  rightful 
heir." 

"Ross!" 

"  You  are  shocked,  no  doubt,"  he  said, 
still  more  coldly.  "  But  even  for  your  sake — 
though  I  pity  you  from  my  heart! — I  cannot 
accept  a  bequest  which  is  so  palpably  un- 
just!" 

Shocked !      I    was    stricken    dumb    and 


MY   STORY. 


101 


motionless,  rather.  Such  a  thought  as  thi3 
had  never  occurred  to  me  for  one  moment.  I 
bad  fancied  the  will  to  be  final  and  unalter- 
able, and  now — for  Ross  to  talk  of  giving  up 
all  that  I  had  secured  to  him  !  I  could  not 
speak  —  I  could  scarcely  think  !  My  very 
heart  seemed  to  stand  still. 

"  Set  your  mind  at  rest  about  your  own 
condition,"  he  said,  after  a  minute,  iu  a  kinder 
tone — pitying,  perhaps,  my  white,  stunned 
face — "  I  will  secure  a  sufficient  portion  out 
of  the  estate  to  make  you  independent — such 
a  portion  as  your  uncle  would  no  doubt  have 
left  you — and  settle  it  on  yourself.  That 
much,  at  least,  I  can  do  for  you," 

For  me !  As  if  I  cared  for  myself — as  if  I 
had  thought  of  myself  in  what  I  had  done ! 

"  Ross,"  I  cried  out,  "  do  you  know  that 
you  are  killing  me  by  such  cruel  words  as 
these  !  What  can  I  say  to  make  you  believe 
that  I — I  thought  only  of  you  ?  I  don't  pre- 
tend to  excuse  what  I  did.  Perhaps  it  was 
very  wicked  ;  but  I  was  never  taught  any 
better.  I  did  not  think  there  was  any  harm 
in  being  silent ;  but,  if  there  had  been  harm, 
I  should  have  done  it  for  you." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  he  said,  bitterly, 
"  since,  in  doing  it  for  me,  you  did  it  for  your- 
self. Xay  " — almost  fiercely — "  do  not  try  to 
make  me  believe  any  thing  else !  You  have 
duped  and  fooled  me  long  enough  with  your 
lovely  face  and  your  wistful  eyes.  My  God, 
are  women  always  false ! "  be  cried  out,  pas- 
sionately. "  Is  there  not  one  of  them  true  ? 
Is  there  not  one  of  them  who  will  not  make  a 
plaything  and  a  tool  of  a  man's  love  ?  If  one 
could  have  hoped  for  truth  in  any,  would  it 
not  have  been  in  you,  Beryl?  and  yet  how 
false  and  mercenary  your  own  acts  prove  that 
you  are ! " 

I  gazed  at  him  dry-eyed  and  mute.  What 
could  I  say  to  such  words  as  these  ?  Look- 
ing into  his  white,  passionate  face,  I  felt  that 
all  was  over  with  me — that  no  protestations 
could  ever  build  up  again  his  shattered  trust. 
In  his  eyes,  I  had  schemed  not  to  enrich  him, 
but  to  enrich  myself;  and  had  used  his  pas- 
sionate love  only  as  the  means  to  such  an 
end. 

"  I  see  you  will  not  believe  me,"  I  said, 
piteously,  after  a  while,  "  but  I  did  not  think 
of  gaining  the  fortune  for  myself.  I  thought 
only  of  securing  it  to  you — that  you  might 
not  be  forced  to  go  back  to  China." 

"  You  were  Tery  kind,"  he  said,  bitterly. 


"  It  is  hard  on  you  that  I  shall  need  to  go 
back  to  China,  after  all." 

He  spoke  with  a  sarcasm  which  I  should 
have  been  quick  enough  to  feel,  only  in  the 
terror  of  his  words  it  passed  me  by  unheeded. 
All  my  lethargy  fled  then.  I  sprang  to  my 
feet,  and,  going  up  to  him,  caught  his  arm. 

"  Ross,"  I  gasped,  "how  can  you  frighten 
me  so  horribly  ?  IIow  can  you  say  such  a 
terrible  thing  ?  You  arc  not  in  earnest — you 
cannot  mean  that  you  are  going  back  to 
China  ?  " 

"Do  you  care?"  he  asked,  suddenly  tak- 
ing me  into  his  arras.  "  0  Beryl,  if  I  could 
but  believe  that  you  did !  0  lovely  face,  why 
are  you  not  true  ?  0  sweet  lips,  why  must  I 
fear  that  your  very  sweetness  is  tricking 
me?" 

"Ross,  Ross,  stay!"  I  cried,  clinging  to 
him  passionately.  "  0  Ross,  my  darling,  say 
what  you  please  to  me,  believe  what  you  please 
of  me — only  stay  !  " 

"  But  I  am  a  poor  man.  Beryl,"  he  said, 
more  gently  than  he  had  spoken  yet.  "  How 
can  I  stay  ?  " 

Then  the  devil  prompted  me  to  cry :  "But 
the  fortune — 0  Ross,  the  fortune  !  If  you 
keep  that  you  need  not  go.  And  it  was  left 
to  you — Uncle  Kendall  left  it  to  you !  He 
never  meant  for  you  to  give  it  up  !  " 

Fool  and  thrice  fool  that  I  was  !  Looking 
back  now,  I  think  that,  in  another  moment, 
my  tearful  eyes,  my  clinging  arms,  would 
have  prevailed  over  his  resolution  to  go,  and 
that  he  might  have  consented  to  stay  if  those 
words  had  not  undone  all.  He  drew  back  as 
if  they  had  stung  him ;  untwining  my  arms, 
and  putting  me  from  him  with  a  faint,  scorn- 
ful laugh. 

"See  how  easily  I  am  duped!"  he  said. 
"  See  how  wrong  your  uncle  was  in  saying 
that  my  poor  father  was  weaker  than  1 1  A 
few  tears,  a  few  glances,  and  I  was  ready  to 
believe  in  you  again,  Beryl,  till  you  show  me 
that  you  are  thinking  of  the  fortune — not  of 
me !  Till  you  prove  that  you  are  only  intent 
on  tempting  me  to  dishonor,  I  see  I  must 
go,"  he  said,  after  a  minute.  "  I  am  not  so 
strong  as  I  thought — I  cannot  trust  myself 
with  you.  At  least,  not  until  all  is  done  that 
must  be  done." 

Then,  not  willingly,  but  as  one  who  yields 
to  a  temptation  too  great  to  be  resisted,  he 
took  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me  many 
times — ah,  Ross,  did  you  suspect,  though  / 


102 


MY  STORY. 


never,  that  it  was  for  the  last  lime? — then, 
putting  me  into  the  chair  where  he  had  found 
me,  turned,  before  I  could  utter  a  word,  and 
left  the  room. 

Left  the  room,  do  I  say  ?  Rather,  passed 
from  my  life — passed  so  utterly  that,  from 
that  hour  to  the  one  in  which  I  write,  I  have 
never  looked  upon  his  face  again. 

Later  in  the  day,  he  left  Kendall,  to  ac- 
company the  lawyer  to  Exford,  where  he 
found  a  telegram  from  his  employers  sum- 
moning him  on  urgent  business.  After  sign- 
ing the  necessary  papers  for  resigning  the 
estate,  he  obeyed  the  summons  at  once.  A 
week  later,  he  sailed  for  China.  Before  me 
lies  a  letter  which  he  wrote  me  on  the  eve  of 
his  departure.  It  is  cold  and  full  of  business 
detail — though  breaking  toward  the  end  into 
a  tenderness  beyond  his  power  to  restrain — 
but,  if  you  glance  at  its  worn  and  yellowed 
pages,  you  will  see  that  they  are  stained  with 
the  signs  of  many  tears,  salt  as  the  sea  and 
bitter  as  grief.  Such  as  it  is,  I  do  well  to 
prize  it,  better  yet  to  weep  over  it,  for  it  is 


my  sole  token  of  the  love  of  one  who  sailed 
away  thinking  that  he  left  behind  only  a 
woman  who  had  deceived  him,  and  who  never 
reached  the  distant  Chinese  port  where  her 
passionate  letters — poor  letters  !  I  have  them, 
too — waited  for  him  through  many  a  long 
day. 

And  so  my  story  ends.  At  least  in  all 
save  my  moments  of  madness,  I  think  that 
so  it  ends.  But  the  fate  of  the  ship  in  which 
Ross  sailed  was  never  known,  and  I — some- 
times I  am  still  weak  enough  to  hope,  to 
dream,  I  know  not  what,  of  wild,  improbable 
things.  Not  long  ago  I  read  a  poem  which 
seemed  the  voice  of  my  own  heart.  It  is 
called  "  Returned — Missing,"  and  is  by  Miss 
Procter,  I  think.  One  stanza  I  cannot  for- 
get: 

"  Not  that  I  dream  or  fancy, 
You  know  all  that  is  past ; 
Earth  has  no  hope  to  give  me, 
And  yet— Time  flies  so  fast 
Tliat  all  but  the  impossible 
Might  be  brought  back  at  last." 


THE      END, 


THE  PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


a  /^HROME- YELLOW,"    muttered  Yauce 

\_J  Lorimer,  tossing  over  the  heap  of 
tube-paints  that  lay  on  a  table  by  the  side  of 
his  easel.  "  Lake-red,  burnt  sienna,  bistre, 
gamboge — why,  what  the  deuce  has  gone  with 
the  thing,  Travers  ?  " 

He  raised  his  voice  at  the  last  word,  and  a 
young  man  who  was  painting  at  the  other  end 
of  the  long  room,  the  skylight,  easels,  and  lay- 
figures  of  which  proclaimed  it  a  studio,  looked 
np  and  answered : 

"  ^Yell,  Yance ;  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Have  you  carried  off  the  ultramarine  ?  I 
can't  find  it  anywhere  ?  " 

"Ultramarine?  I — on  my  honor,  I  don't 
know.    Probably  I  have." 

"  Well,  pray  be  good  enough  to  return  it, 
then,"  said  Lorimer,  in  an  impatient  tone.  "  I 
have  been  looking  for  a  tube  of  it  everywhere, 
and  wasted  more  time  than  the  confounded 
thing  is  worth." 

"  Take  permanent  blue." 

"  No.  I  want  ultramarine.  What  is  the 
reason  you  can't  let  my  paints  alone  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  reason  you  can't  be  friendly 
and  obliging  ? "  returned  the  other,  with  a 
laugh.  "  It  is  so  mnch  less  trouble  to  borrow 
from  you  than  to  send  out  and  buy.  Here ! 
be  quick  ;  catch  it  as  I  toss  it  to  you." 

He  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and,  as 
he  spoke,  a  small  tube  went  flying  through  the 
air,  straight  at  Lorimer's  head.  The  latter 
caught  it  deftly,  and,  having  done  so,  com- 
menced mixing  some  of  the  contents  on  his 
palette.  While  he  wag  occupied  in  this  way, 
his  friend  watched  him  closely,  and  at  last 
spoke,  quite  abruptly : 

"  What  are  you  paintmg  on,  Lorimer  ?  " 


"  On  a  scene,"  was  the  rather  unsatisfac- 
tory reply. 

"  Humph  !  Considering  the  number  of 
scenes  you  have  on  hand,  that  is  something 
like  saying  '  on  a  picture.'     What  scene  ?  " 

"  Come  and  satisfy  yourself,  if  you  are  cu- 
rious." 

Apparently,  from  some  reason  or  other, 
Travers  was  curious.  He  laid  down  his  brush, 
and,  with  his  palette  still  on  his  xhumb,  came 
down  the  room,  and,  walking  round  his  friend's 
easel,  paused  in  front  of  it.  The  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  give  a  long  whistle,  then  he 
looked  up  and  said : 

"  So  you  are  at  this  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lorimer,  coolly,  "  I  am  at  that 
again.  It  is  impossible  to  help  it,  Frank. 
Every  time  I  stop  painting,  I  have  the  dream 
over  again ;  and  each  time  it  seems  to  grow 
more  vivid.  Last  night  I  could  hardly  believe 
that  it  was  not  reality.  You  may  laugh  if  you 
like ;  but  I  tell  you  it  is  the  strangest  thing  I 
ever  heard  of." 

"  I  am  not  laughing,"  said  Travers,  truth- 
fully enough.  "  I  haven't  the  least  inclination 
to  laugh,  Yance  ;  for  I  really  believe  that,  if 
this  thing  goes  on,  you'll  turn  clairvoyant  after 
a  while,  and  be  dreaming  dreams,  and  seeing 
visions,  like  the  rest  of  them.  If  I  had  been 
in  your  place,  I  would  have  made  a  stand 
against  it." 

"  What  was  the  good  of  making  a  stand 
against  it  ?  "  asked  the  other.  "  It  is  all  very 
well  to  talk  in  that  way  when  you  haven't /e/< 
the  thing ;  but,  by  Jove,  if  you  had — " 

"  I  hope  I  shouldn't  have  taken  leave  of 
my  senses,  as  you  seem  to  have  done." 

"  How  do  I  seem  to  have  taken  leave  of 
my  senses  ?  " 

"  Are  not  all  your  pictures  lying  untouched, 


104 


THE  PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


and  have  you  done  a  stroke  of  work  on  any 
but  this  for  a  month  past  ?  " 

"  And  how  could  I  help  either  the  on^e  or 
the  other  ?  I  felt  absolutely  incapable  of 
touching  them,  and  irresistibly  impelled  to 
work  on  this.  I  have  tried  again  and  again  to 
put  it  down,  and  there  is  always  some  strong 
force  compelling  me  to  resume  work  on  it." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  is  the  matter,"  said 
Travers,  thrusting  his  right  hand  deep  into 
the  pocket  of  his  blouse,  and  looking  at  the 
picture  as  if  it  had  been  a  culprit,  and  he  had 
been  a  judge  ready  to  pass  sentence  of  death 
upon  it.  "  That  sort  of  talk  is  not  like  you, 
Lorimer  ;  and  it  sounds  badly — on  my  honor, 
it  does.  A  man  can  do  any  thing  he  wants  to 
do  ;  and,  if  that  precious  picture  was  mine,  I 
would  cut  it  up  into  strips,  and  throw  it  into 
the  fire." 

"  Is  it  such  a  daub,  then  ?  " 

"  A  daub  ?  Confound  it,  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  it  is  better  painted  than  any  thing 
you  ever  did  before,  and  that  is  what  provokes 
me.  The  thing  has  acquired  such  a  hold  on 
you  that  you  have  put  into  it  the  very  best  of 
your  power,  Lorimer,  honestly,  I  don't  think 
it's  right." 

Lorimer  laughed,  then  looked  up  from  the 
paints  he  was  mixing,  and  gave  a  glance,  half- 
affectionate,  half-critical,  at  the  picture. 

"  There's  one  thing  certain,"  he  said,  "  it 
has  a  look  of  reality — don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  It  has  a  devilish  look  of  reality,"  the 
other  answered.  "I  could  swear  you  had 
painted  every  stroke  from  actual  sight.  Tance, 
are  you  sure  you  never  saw  any  thing  like 
it  ? — any  thing  that  may  have  been  lying  dor- 
mant in  your  brain,  and  unconsciously  brought 
forth  this  ?  " 

"I  am  perfectly  sure,"  Yance  returned, 
decidedly,  "  I  never  saw  the  scene,  or  any 
thing  resembling  it,  in  my  Ufe.  And  as  for 
the  people,  of  course  I  never  saw  them." 

*'  You  might  have  seen  worse  -  looking 
ones.'' 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  might.  Stand  back  now, 
Franzerl,  I  want  to  go  to  work." 

Travers  drew  back ;  but  still  stood  by, 
looking  on  with  a  very  disapproving  face,  while 
Lorimer  began  touching  the  foreground  of  the 
picture.  It  was  not  a  large  or  a  very  elabo- 
rate composition,  nor  was  the  drift  of  its  mean- 
ing very  plain ;  but  still  it  was  a  painting  at 
which  any  art-connoisseur  would  have  paused 
to  look,  and  in  which  the  most  severe  critic 


must  needs  have  found  much  to  commend. 
There  was  an  earnest  signification  underlying 
it,  and  a  dramatic  power  about  it  which  irre- 
sistibly enchained  attention,  and  made  even 
Travers  understand  the  hold  it  had  gained  on 
his  friend. 

The  scene  represented  a  mountain-gap,  and 
the  background  of  the  picture  was  entirely 
occupied  by  scenery  of  the  boldest  yet  most 
luxuriant  character.  There  was  no  rugged- 
ness  in  the  grand  outline  of  the  towering 
hills,  for  they  were  clothed  in  a  royal  dra- 
pery of  almost  tropical  verdure,  while  on  one 
side  a  sunny  valley  stretched  away,  bounded 
by  walls  of  living  green,  and  flecked  by  a  hun- 
dred vicissitudes  of  light  and  shadow.  This 
part  of  the  picture  was  inexpressibly  charm- 
ing, and  was  painted  with  a  fidelity,  a  reality 
of  treatment  and  strict  attention  to  detail, 
which  made  it  almost  impossible  to  believe 
that  it  was  not  a  faithful  copy  of  Nature.  The 
foreground  of  the  piece  was  brightened  by  a 
small  river  that  dashed  into  sight  round  the 
base  of  a  lordly  mountain,  and,  widening  out 
in  the  sunshine,  lay  smooth  and  clear  as  crys- 
tal just  where  the  bluffs  that  overlooked  it 
made  a  break,  and  a  narrow  road  led  down 
between  overhanging  hills  to  the  water's  edge. 
And  here  it  was  that  the  interest  of  the  pict- 
ure centred — for  here  lay  a  small  skiff  which 
contained  two  figures  in  very  dramatic  pose. 
One  was  a  woman,  a  girl  whose  hat  had  fallen 
off  into  the  water,  and  was  slowly  floating  down- 
stream, while  slie  herself,  with  every  mark  of 
a  recent  struggle  in  her  disordered  dress,  her 
loosened  hair,  and  flushed,  resolute  face,  was 
springing  forward,  as  if  to  gain  the  land.  The 
other  was  a  man  who  stood  erect,  and  held 
her  back  with  one  arm,  while  with  the  other 
he  was  loosening  the  boat  from  its  fastenings, 
preparatory  to  pushing  it  out  into  the  stream. 
The  action  was  very  well  managed,  for  there 
was  nothing  strained  or  stiff,  nothing  over- 
wrought or  weak  about  either  attitude,  and 
the  faces  of  both  the  man  and  the  woman 
were  so  strongly  marked,  so  thoroughly  indi- 
vidualized, that,  if  they  had  been  portraits, 
they  would  have  been  recognizable  at  a  glance. 
The  girl  was'  singularly  beautiful,  and  as  her 
face  was  upturned,  and  the  heavy  masses  of 
golden-brown  hair  fell  back  from  it,  and  rolled, 
like  a  tide  of  bronze,  down  her  back,  it  was 
easy  to  trace  every  line  of  the  delicate  feat- 
ures, the  clear,  haughty  nose,  the*  exquisite 
mouth,   the  finely-arched    brows,   the    deep, 


j2 


o 

t/3 


THE   PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


105 


large,  dark  eyes,  full  of  indignant  scorn  and 
passionate  resentment,  the  complexion  white 
and  pure  as  the  petal  of  a  water-lily.  Iler 
dress  was  very  plain  ;  but  a  glance  was  enough 
to  show  that  she  was  a  lady.  Quite  as  evi- 
dently, her  companion  was  a  gentleman.  He 
was  tall  and  well  made,  and  a  studied  rough- 
ness of  costume  only  brought  out  more  plainly 
the  aristocratic  air  stamped  upon  his  whole 
l^ersonal  appearance.  His  face  was  half-turned 
aside,  showing  the  profile,  which  was  very 
handsome  and  full  of  determined  resolution — 
resolution  difterent  from  that  of  the  girl,  in- 
asmuch as  hers  was  evidently  hot  as  fire, 
while  his  was  cold  as  steel.  The  mouth  was 
compressed,  the  nostrils  were  drawn,  and  in 
the  eye  there  was  a  look  of  such  exultant  tri- 
umph, that  involuntarily  Travers  exclaimed : 

"  There's  one  thing  I  don't  understand, 
Vance.  How  did  you  have  the  patience  to 
paint  that  scoundrel  without  pitching  him  out 
of  the  boat  ?  " 

"  It  was  hard,"  said  Vance,  laughing  ; 
"  but  then  I  had  no  option  in  the  matter.  You 
won't  believe  it,  Frank,  but  there  has  been  a 
strange  sort  of  power  at  work  to  make  me 
paint  this  thing.  I  don't  deny  that  it  has  a 
fascination  for  me,  but  it  has  a  strong  repul- 
sion also,  especially  this  scoundrel,  as  you  call 
him." 

"  The  girl  is  a  splendid  creature,  though, 
and  she  is  making  a  gallant  fight  of  it.  What 
is  to  become  of  her,  Vance?  " 

"  How  should  I  know,  Franzerl  ?  " 

"  Paint  a  rescuer,  at  least.  Don't  let  that 
villain  have  it  all  his  own  way.  By  Jove  !  he 
looks  so  triumphant,  that  it  is  more  than  one 
can  stand  !  " 

"  Whom  should  I  paint,  and  where  should 
I  paint  him  ?  There  was  no  rescuer  in  the 
dream." 

"  Paint  him  there,"  said  Travers,  pointing 
to  a  shelving  blufi"  crowned  with  luxuriant  fo- 
liage that  overhung  the  river  just  beyond  the 
boat.  "  As  for  who  he  should  be — you  are 
welcome  to  put  me  in.  I'd  like  amazingly  to 
have  even  an  imaginary  chance  at  punching 
that  rascal's  head  !  Or,  as  you  are  the  better 
looking  of  the  two — besides  being  the  stronger 
— put  yourself  in,  Vance." 

Vance  flushed  a  little.  He  certainly  looked 
no  unfit  subject  for  a  picture,  as  he  stood 
there  in  all  the  strength  and  stateliness  of 
early  manhood,  his  well-knit  figure  uniting 
muscular  power  and  grace  of  proportion  in 


such  rare  degree,  that  it  might  have  served  as 
a  model  for  an  athlete,  and  his  frank,  hand- 
some face  full  of  the  pleasant  light  that  had 
never  failed  to  prepossess  liking  in  any  one 
who  looked  upon  it.  Just  now  the  blue  eyes 
were  gazing  intently  at  the  picture  so  strange- 
ly suggested,  so  faithfully  worked  out,  and  the 
lips  were  smiling  under  the  long,  fair  mustache 
that  fell  over  them  and  matched  the  crest  of 
crisp  curls  above  the  brow.  He  shook  his 
head  at  last. 

"  Xo,  no,  Franzerl.  You  know  what  we 
used  to  say  at  Diisseldorf — '  always  be  faithful 
to  your  inspiration.'  I  have  never  seen  my- 
self in  this  picture." 

"Nor  anybody  else  ?  " 

"  Nor  anybody  else." 

"  Well,  it  is  deucedly  hard  on  the  poor 
girl,  that  is  all  I  have  to  say,"  returned  Trav- 
ers, in  a  most  sincere  tone  of  commiseration. 
"  I  wish  the  thing  was  in  the  fire ;  for  it  has 
bewitched  you.  Come,  Vance !  let  us  leave 
work  for  a  while,  and  try  a  tour  of  rustication. 
I  am  sure  we  both  need  fresh  subjects  ;  I  am 
sick  of  my  everlasting  genre,  and  I  am  sure 
yeu  must  be  sick  of  this.  By-the-by,  how  often 
do  you  dream  your  interesting  dream  ?  Every 
night  ? " 

"  Xo.     Only  when  I  stop  painting  it." 

"  And  is  it  always  the  same  ?  Do  you 
never  see  the  dream  at  a  little  earlier  or  a 
little  later  stage  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  thing  beyond  what  I 
have  put  down  here." 

"  And  how  do  you  feel  in  regard  to  it  ?  " 

Vance  laughed  a  little.  "  I  am  not  imagi- 
native,  or  easily  impressed,"  he  said.  "Pri- 
marily,  I  feel  that  it  is  confoundedly  queer; 
and  secondly,  I  feel  that  I  should  like  to  get 
my  hands  on  that  fellow  ! " 

"  I  can  comprehend  that  sensation.  But 
you  have  not  answered  my  question.  Shall 
we  go  somewhere  ?  " 

"My  dear  Frank,  'somewhere'  is  delight- 
fully indefinite.  I  thought,  moreover,  that  we 
had  decided  that  our  pecuniary  resources  are 
too  limited  for  us  to  go  anywhere  ?  " 

"Anywhere  where  money  is  a  necessity, 
of  course.  But  I  know  a  land  of  milk  and 
honey — don't  open  your  eyes  wider  than  you 
can  help — where  money  is  next  to  unknown, 
and  quite  unnecessary." 

"One  of  the  dominions  of  Prester  John, 
no  doubt." 

"  No,  my  dear  friend.      A  region  much 


106 


THE  PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


nearer  home — iu  fact,  the  mountains  of  North 
Carolina.  The  most  magnificent  scenery  on 
the  continent  is  to  be  found  there;  your 
travelling  pest,  '  the  tourist,'  is  absolutely  un- 
heard of;  the  people  are  simple,  patriarchal, 
and  hospitable ;  the  commodities  of  life  are  so 
abundant  that  money  is  positively  at  a  dis- 
count ;  and,  in  one  word,  it  is  a  modern  Ar- 
cadia. Let  us  make  a  walking  tour  through 
it." 

"Walk  from  here  to  North  Carolina, 
Frank !    Are  you  mad  ?  " 

"Not  quite,  mon  ami  —  despite  the  con- 
tagion of  your  society.  Listen  to  my  plan — 
it  is  at  once  comprehensive  and  practical. 
We  will  take  the  railroad  here,  and  follow 
that  commonplace  mode  of  conveyance  as  far 
as  it  will  carry  us — which  is  not  far  into  the 
mountains,  I  can  promise  you.  Then  we  will 
shoulder  our  knapsacks  and  sketch-books,  and 
take  to  our  feet.  We  shall  have  to  rough 
it — there  are  no  monster-caravanseries  under 
the  name  of  hotels  between  the  Yadkin  and 
the  French  Broad — and  no  doubt  we  shall 
sometimes  have  to  go  fasting.  But  still,  if  we 
can  succeed  in  putting  only  a  hundredth  part 
of  the  beauty  we  shall  see  on  canvas,  we  shall 
make  our  fortunes — and  that's  a  considera- 
tion." 

"  It  sounds  tempting,"  said  Vance,  balan- 
cing his  palette  on  his  thumb.  "But  my  pict- 
ure— " 

"  Hang  your  picture !  It  is  exactly  that 
confounded  thing  I  am  anxious  to  take  you 
away  from.  If  we  stay  here,  and  you  work 
at  it  much  longer,  I  shall  be  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  calling  in  a  procession  of  priests 
to  exorcise  you  with  '  bell,  book,  and  candle.' 
Come,  I  am  in  earnest — will  you  go  ?  " 

Vance  looked  irresolutely  at  the  painting. 
It  cost  a  severe  struggle  to  resolve  to  leave  it 
behind ;  but  he  knew  that,  if  he  did  not  go, 
Travers  himself  would  never  consent  to  leave 
the  city,  and  the  hot,  breathless,  dog-days 
wei-e  upon  them.  So,  after  a  while,  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  the  sacrifice  with  a  sigh. 

"  If  it  must  be,  it  must,"  he  said.  "  Yes, 
I'll  go,  Franzerl.  But  I  doubt  if  I  shall  see 
any  thing  half  so  lovely  as  this  in  all  our 
travels." 

He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  girl  in  the 
foreground  of  his  picture — at  which  Franzerl 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  away. 

" '  The  spell  is  in  the  witch's  face,' "  he 
said,  with  a  laugh.     "  I  don't  think  there's  a 


doubt,  Vance,  that  it  is ;   and  that  it  has 
bound  you,  hand  and  foot." 

II. 

"  There  is  no  good  in  arguing  the  mat- 
ter," said  Mr.  Rivers,  regarding  his  wife  with 
a  frowning  brow ;  "  Marion  shall  never  marry 
that  man." 

Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  more  than  an- 
other which  his  family  and  friends  had  always 
known  of  John  Rivers,  it  was  that  his  deci- 
sions were  final,  and  that,  if  he  once  said  of 
any  thing  it  "  shall "  or  it  "  shall  not "  be,  the 
matter  might  be  regarded  (either  negatively 
or  afiirmatively)  as  settled.  He  had  never  in 
any  instance  been  known  to  change  his  mind ; 
so  when  he  looked  at  his  wife  now,  and  said, 
in  the  tone  of  a  Persian  satrap,  "  Marion  shall 
never  marry  that  man,"  Mrs.  Rivers  felt  that 
all  argument  was  useless,  and,  sinking  back 
in  her  chair,  uttered  nothing  save  a  faint,  re- 
proachful sigh. 

"I  can't  imagine  what  ever  put  such  an 
idea  into  Marion's  head,  or  how  you  could 
ever  have  thought  that  I  would  consent  to 
it ! "  her  husband  went  on,  in  that  tone  of  in- 
tense irritation  which  shows  when  the  ther- 
mometer of  masculine  anger  is  fast  approach- 
ing fever-heat.  "  It  really  seems  as  if  I  never 
go  away  from  home  that  the  household  does 
not  manage  to  get  into  some  mischief.  The 
last  time,  it  was  Jack's  scrape ;  and  now  you 
coolly  tell  me  that  Marion  wants  to  marry  the 
most  unprincipled  scamp  in  the  country." 

"  My  dear ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rivers,  in  a 
tone  of  expostulation. 

"Yes,"  said  her  husband,  unflinchingly. 
"  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say :  I  never  knew  a 
Rayford  who  was  not  an  unprincipled  scamp  ; 
and,  from  all  that  I  hear  of  this  young  man, 
he  bids  fair  to  increase  the  family  reputation. 
Of  course  they  don't  lie,  or  steal,  or  do  any 
thing  of  that  sort ;  but  they  are  a  set  of  gam- 
bling, duelling  desperadoes,  and  I  would  see 
Marion  in  her  grave  before  she  should  marry 
one  of  them." 

"But,  John,  is  it  fair  to  judge  in  this 
way  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Rivers,  with  an  attempt  at 
appeal.  "  This  young  man  came  back  from 
Europe  only  the  other  day ;  and,  indeed,  he 
seems  very  diflerent  from  the  rest  of  the  fam- 
ily. Of  course,  I  know  what  the  Rayfords 
are — but  he  seems  very  different." 

"  He  might  seem  like  an  angel  of  light, 
and  I  should  not  trust  him,"  said  Mr.  Rivers, 


THE   PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


107 


dryly.  "  Besides,  I  tell  you  that  I  hare  heard 
of  him.  I  never  mentioned  it  before,  for  I  did 
not  suppose  the  matter  would  ever  concern 
U3,  and  I  am  not  given  to  spreading  gossip ; 
but  Harry  Armstrong  was  in  Germany  at  the 
same  time  that  this — what  is  his  name  ? — this 
Alston  Rayford  was,  and  he  told  me  of  more 
than  one  scandal  in  which  his  name  was 
prominent.  You  might  like  such  a  husband 
for  Marion,  but  I  should  not." 

Mrs.  Rivers  sighed  deeply  and  helplessly. 
She  knew  that,  to  combat  her  husband's  reso- 
lution, was  to  dash  herself  against  a  rock ; 
and  yet  she  sighed — partly  for  her  daughter's 
disappointment,  partly  for  her  own.  Her  heart 
had  been  very  much  set  on  possessing  Mr. 
Alston  Rayford,  with  his  handsome  presence 
and  charming  manners,  as  a  son-in-law;  and 
she  could  not  resign  the  prospect  without 
regret.  She  looked  at  her  husband,  but  his 
firmly-set  mouth  and  determined  face  were  not 
encouraging ;  so,  after  pausing  a  considerable 
time,  she  found  nothing  better  to  reply  than — 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  Marion 
will  say ! " 

"That  is  not  a  matter  of  much  impor- 
tance," answered  Marion's  father.  "  As  for 
what  she  will  do — she  will  abide  by  my  de- 
cision, and  receive  no  more  of  Mr.  Rayford's 
visits  or  attentions." 

"  You  forget  that  he  has  made  an  offer, 
John.  She  will  have  to  see  him,  or  else  write 
to  him  and  tell  him  of  your — your  decision." 

"She  will  have  to  do  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other.  I  will  see  him  and  settle  the  mat- 
ter." 

"  But,  John,  don't  you  thiak— " 

"  I  think  that  you  are  as  absurdly  infatu- 
ated as  Marion  herself,"  interrupted  Mr.  Rivers, 
impatiently.  "  I  told  you,  a  moment  ago,  that 
it  is  useless  to  argue  the  matter.  My  mind  is 
made  up ;  and  I  am  the  head  of  my  own 
household,  I  hope.  You  can  tell  Marion  what 
I  say,  or  you  can  send  her  to  me,  whichever 
you  please." 

"  I  think  I  had  better  tell  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Rivers,  meekly. 

"Do  so,  then,"  said  her  husband,  shortly. 
"  No  doubt  she  will  think  that  I  am  a  hard- 
hearted tyrant,  and  that  she  is  an  injured 
victim,  but  take  care  that  she  donH  think 
that  there  is  any  hope  of  her  being  ultimately 
allowed  to  marry  the  man." 

Mrs.  Rivers  made  no  reply ;  but,  from  the 
mere  habit  of  obedience,  rose  and  left  the 


room.  Once  in  the  hall,  with  the  door  closed 
between  her  husband  and  herself,  she  stopped 
and  wrung  her  hands.  She  was  a  delicate, 
helpless-looking  woman  at  all  times,  but  the 
helplessness  of  her  aspect  came  out  with  pe- 
culiar and  almost  ludicrous  force  just  now,  as 
she  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase,  gazing 
absently  out  of  the  broad  open  doors  at  the 
summer  landscape  beyond,  and  dreading  the 
meeting  with  her  daughter  even  more  than 
she  had  lately  dreaded  the  meeting  with  her 
husband.  But  there  was  no  alternative  of 
evasion.  Marion  must  be  informed  of  her 
father's  resolution  without  delay.  "Every 
thing  falls  on  me,"  said  Mrs.  Rivers  to  herself, 
in  an  injured  tone — and,  then  she  began  to 
mount  the  stairs.  Before  she  reached  the 
second  floor,  gay  voices  floated  down  to  her 
ear  ;  and,  when  she  paused  on  the  landing,  a 
door  just  in  front  of  her  was  half-open,  giving 
a  pleasant  glimpse  of  a  chamber  airy  with 
light  summer  drapery,  fragrant  with  the  per- 
fume of  roses  and  honeysuckle  clambering 
round  the  windows,  and  full  of  a  ripple  of 
girlish  talk  and  laughter  proceeding  from  two 
unseen  mouths.  Mrs.  Rivers  knew  at  once 
that  Marion's  most  intimate  friend.  Miss  Nellie 
Forrest,  was  with  her.  But  this  young  lady 
was  so  entirely  one  of  the  family,  that  no 
household  secrets  were  kept  from  her,  and  her 
presence  did  not  afford  an  excuse  for  procras- 
tination. So  Mrs.  Rivers  advanced  at  once  to 
the  open  door,  and,  as  the  two  girls  looked  up, 
her  face  told  her  story  before  she  had  time  to 
open  her  lips. 

"Mamma!" 

"  Mrs.  Rivers ! " 

It  was  an  alternate  exclamation  ;  and  then 
the  first  speaker  hurried  on  : 

"  Mamma,  something  is  the  matter.  What 
is  it?" 

"  A  great  deal  is  the  matter,  Marion,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Rivers,  despondently. 

"Has  papa  come  back  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  have  you  told  him  about  Alston  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  what  does  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  says  he  would  see  you  in  your  grave 
sooner  than  to  let  you  marry  him." 

"  Mamma ! " 

"  He  absolutely  refuses  his  consent,"  said 
Mrs.  Rivers,  sitting  down  in  the  chair  nearest 
to  her,  and  looking  at  her  daughter  with  an 
air  of  appeal. 


108 


THE  PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


"  It  is  not  my  fault,  Marion.  I  said  all  I 
could — but  you  know  your  father.  It  would 
have  done  no  good  if  I  had  gone  on  my  knees 
to  him.  He  says  you  shall  not  marry  Mr. 
Rayford." 

"  He  has  no  right  to  say  so  !  "  cried  Marion, 
and  she  rose  to  her  feet  as  she  spoke,  her  face 
flushing  and  her  form  quivering.  "  You  need 
not  look  at  me,  mamma  !  If  he  was  my  fa- 
ther a  hundred  times  over,  he  would  have  no 
right  to  say  so  without  some  reason  for  it. 
And  he  has  no  reason.  Everybody  knows 
that  there  is  not  a  thing  to  be  said  against 
Alston." 

"His  family,  Marion — " 

"  His  family  are  not  himself — even  if  you 
believe  all  that  has  been  said  about  them. 
And,  for  my  part,  I  don't  believe  half  of  it." 

"  But  your  father  says  he  has  heard  some 
unfavorable  reports  about  Mr.  Rayford  him- 
self" 

"  He  might  hear  slanders  and  falsehoods 
about  anybody,"  Marion  answered.  "  I  see 
he  has  brought  you  over  to  his  opinion, 
mamma — of  course  that  was  to  be  expected. 
Only  don't  think  that  I  am  going  to  submit 
like  this.  If  papa  has  any  charge  to  make 
against  Alston,  he  ought  to  make  it  explicitly, 
and  give  him  an  opportunity  to  refute  it.  But 
to  stab  a  man's  character  in  the  dark — if  it 
was  any  one  else,  I  would  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  it  looks  very  much  like  slandering  !  " 

"  Marion  !  "  Mrs.  Rivers  stood  a  good 
deal  in  awe  of  her  beautiful  and  spoiled  daugh- 
ter ;  but  really  this  was  too  much  even  for  her 
patience.  "  Marion,  you  forget  yourself ! 
Your  father  never  said  a  thing  that  was  un- 
true in  his  life ;  and  with  reason,  or  without 
reason,  he  has  a  right  to  decide  whom  you 
shall  marry." 

"  He  has  not !  "  said  Marion  ;  and  as  she 
stood  there,  with  her  face  growing  momently 
■whiter,  and  her  eyes  momently  darker,  it  was 
easy  to  see  that  she  had  inherited  much  of  her 
father's  obstinacy.  "  Nobody  has  such  a  right 
without  some  reason  for  its  exercise.  It  would 
be  tyranny.     But  I  will  see  Alston,  and — " 

"  You  are  not  to  see  him  any  more,"  in- 
terposed Mrs.  Rivers,  hastily. 

"  Mamma !     "What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"It  is  very  plain  what  I  mean,  Marion. 
Your  father  says  you  are  ncrt  to  receive  any 
more  of  Mr.  Rayford's  visits  or  attentions ; 
and  that  he  himself  will  tell  him  that  you  can- 
not marry  him." 


Marion  looked  at  her  mother  and  gave  a 
gasp.  Such  an  arbitrary  dictum  seemed  to 
her  so  outrageous,  that  it  was  almost  incred- 
ible. But  a  moment's  reflection  showed  her 
the  folly  of  wasting  expostulation  or  indigna- 
tion on  Mrs.  Rivers,  who  was  the  mere  mouth- 
piece of  her  father's  resolution.  So,  without 
a  word,  she  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"Marion!"  cried  her  mother,  hastily, 
"  where  are  you  going?  " 

"I  am  going  to  papa,"  Marion  answered. 
"  I  must  speak  to  him.  Don't  try  to  detain 
me,  mamma.     I  must — I  will  go  !  " 

Her  mother  caught  her,  but  she  drew 
away,  and,  before  she  could  be  stopped  again, 
ran  quickly  down-stairs.  Listening  in  mute 
consternation,  Mrs.  Rivers  heard  her  cross  the 
hall,  knock  at  her  father's  door,  enter  and 
close  it  behind  her.  Then  she  looked  up  at 
Miss  Forrest,  who  laughed  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"  It  is  a  case  of  Greek  meeting  Greek," 
the  latter  said.  "  I  think  we  may  reasonably 
expect  there  will  be  a  tug  of  war." 

"  I  am  sure  that  Marion  will  be  worsted, 
then,"  said  Mrs.  Rivers  ;  "  and,  whatever  hap- 
pens, they  are  both  of  them  sure  to  blame 
me." 

Half  an  hour  passed.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  the  door  below  opened,  and  Mr.  Rivers's 
voice  was  heard  calling  his  wife's  name.  "When 
she  came,  he  pointed  to  his  daughter,  who 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  flushed  and 
defiant-looking. 

"  There  is  a  young  lady  who  has  adopted  a 
belief  in  the  right  of  her  sex  to  choose  hus- 
bands as  well  as  to  rule  th^m,"  he  said,  sar- 
castically. "  She  refuses  to  obey  my  com- 
mand with  regard  to  Mr.  Rayford,  and  an- 
nounces her  intention  of  '  keeping  faith '  with 
him.  Whether  that  romantic  phrase  means 
an  elopement  or  not,  I  don't  know — ^nor  do  I 
care.  I  have  told  her  that  she  shall  never 
marry  him  with  my  consent,  or  in  my  house. 
If  she  chooses  to  disgrace  herself  by  eloping 
with  him,  that  is  her  ovra  affair.  I  have  no 
intention  of  locking  her  up." 

"And  I  have  no  intention  of  eloping,"  said 
Marion.  "  You  know  me  well  enough,  sir,  to 
know  that.  If  I  must  submit  to  your  com- 
mands in  this  matter,  I  shaU  do  so.  But  I 
only  submit — I  do  not  yield.  That  is,  I  still 
hold  myself  engaged  to  Alston,  unless  he 
chooses  to  break  the  engagement." 

"  Even  when  I  forbid  it  ?  " 


THE  PAINTER'S  DKEAM. 


109 


"Even  when  you  forbid  it,  if  j'ou  give  me 
no  reason  for  doing  so.'' 

"  That  is  to  say,  there  is  to  be  a  scries  of 
clandestine  meetings  going  on  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Xo.  I  hope  I  shall  never  forget  myself 
far  enough  to  do  any  thing  of  that  kind.  But, 
if  I  meet  Alston  at  the  houses  of  our  frijcnds, 
I  shall  treat  him  as  heretofore." 

"  Then  I  shall  send  you  where  no  such  in- 
teresting meetings  can  occur.  Lucy" — this 
to  Mrs.  Rivers — "  will  you  see  that  her  trunk 
is  packed  ?  I  promised  George  when  he  was 
here  last  that  she  should  go  to  see  him  some 
summer.  This  summer  will  do  as  well  as 
any." 

"  But  the  White  Sulphur,  John  ! "  cried 
Mrs.  Rivers,  all  aghast. 

"  The  White  Sulphur  is  not  a  fit  place  for 
young  ladies  who  refuse  to  obey  their  fa- 
thers," answered  Mr.  Rivers,  coolly.  "You 
can  go  there  if  you  choose,  and  take  the 
younger  girls  ;  but  Marion  shall  go  to 
George's." 

"  0  Marion !  my  dear  child,  why  don't  you 
yield  to  your  father  ? "  cried  Mrs.  Rivers,  with 
an  appeal  which  her  daughter's  face  might 
have  showed  her  was  vain.  "  You  will  die  up 
there,  in  those  dreadful  backwoods — I  know 
you  will." 

"That  is  papa's  affair,"  said  Marion,  in  a 
hard  voice,  "  If  he  chooses  to  send  me  into 
exile  and  virtual  prison  because  I  won't  give 
np  an  honest  gentleman  who  loves  me  well 
enough  to  merit  some  constancy  from  me, 
why,  I  cannot  help  it.  The  threat  of  being 
sent  to  Uucle  George's  is  not  going  to  make 
me  do  a  thing  I  would  not  do  without  it." 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  make  you  do  any 
thing,"  said  her  father.  "  And  it  is  not  a 
threat,  either — it  is  a  certainty.  I  want  you 
to  be  ready  next  week,  and  I  will  take  you  to 
the  mountains  myself." 

He  left  the  room  as  he  spoke,  and  imme- 
diately afterward  Marion  broke  away  from 
her  mother  and  ran  up-stairs.  The  reason  of 
this  was  apparent  when  she  reached  her  own 
chamber.  She  was  in  a  perfect  passion  of 
tears. 

After  a  while  the  violence  of  the  storm 
abated,  and  then  the  tale  of  her  discomfiture 
was  duly  told  to  the  sympathizing  ear  of  Miss 
Forrest.  It  is  impossible  to  do  justice  to  the 
disgust  of  this  young  lady  when  she  heard 
that,  instead  of  the  White  Sulphur  (for  which 
they  had  been  laying  gay  plans,  and  making 
8 


gay  preparations  that  very  morning),  her 
friend  was  sentenced  to  banishment  at  "  Un- 
cle George's."  Like  most  Eastern  Carolin- 
ians, she  had  a  profound  ignorance  and  deep 
horror  of  the  western  part — the  "  up-coun- 
try "  in  Carolina  parlance — of  her  own  State ; 
and  she  would  really  have  felt  less  commisera- 
tion for  Marion  if  that  young  lady  had  an- 
nounced that  she  was  sentenced  to  an  ex- 
tended rustication  in  the  interior  of  Oregon. 
The  warmth  of  her  friendship,  and  the  depth 
of  her  self  sacrificing  spirit,  may  therefore  be 
imagined  when  at  last  she  said : 

"  Well,  if  it  is  absolutely  settled — if  you 
are  really  to  go,  there  is  one  thing  certain, 
Marion,  you  can't  go  alone.  As  your  mother 
says,  you  would  really  die  up  there.  If  you 
are  not  to  be  at  the  White  Sulphur,  it  has  lost 
all  attraction  for  me ;  so,  if  you  think  I  would 
be  welcome,  I  will  go  into  banishment  with 
you." 

"  Nellie  !  "  Marion  looked  up,  and  actually 
smiled  through  her  tears.  "  You  are  not — 
you  cannot  be  in  earnest '?  " 

"  I  am,  though,  if  you  will  take  me." 

"But  it  would  be  too  abominably  selfish 
to  let  you  do  such  a  thing." 

"  Really  I  should  think  it  was  my  concern 
if  I  choose  to  immolate  myself  on  the  altar  of 
friendship.  Besides,  it  is  only  changing  the 
programme,  and  substituting  our  own  moun- 
tains for  those  of  Virginia." 

"  And  Uncle  George's  for  the  White  Sul- 
phur !  No,  no,  Nellie ;  indeed,  it  must  not  be. 
There  is  no  help  for  me.  Ccesar  has  spoken, 
and  I  must  obey.  But  you  are  different.  You 
must  go  to  the  White  Sulphur,  do  my  flirting 
and  dancing  as  well  as  your  own,.console  poor 
Alston,  write  me  long  accounts  of- every  thing, 
and—" 

"  And  be  wretched  all  the  time,  thinking 
of  you.  No,  no,  my  dear.  Spare  yourself 
any  further  recapitulation  of  White  Sulphur 
delights.  I  am  bound  westward.  I  mean  to 
bear  you  company  to  Uncle  George's,  Mr, 
Rivers  won't  look  upon  me  as  a  spy  of  the 
enemy,  and  refuse  to  take  me,  I  suppose?  " 

"  No — I  can't  imagine  why  he  should." 

"  Then  regard  the  matter  as  settled.  And 
now  let  us  see  what  dresses  we  shall  take  into 
banishment." 

Ill, 

Is  one  of  the  most  remote  and  wildlj'-pict- 
urcsque  of  the  extreme  western  counties  o£ 


110 


THE  PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


Xorth  Carolina,  the  two  young  ladies  soon 
found  themselves  safely  domiciled  in  the  house 
of  Mr.  George  Rivers,  and  thrown  upon  their 
own  resources  for  amusement  and  entertain- 
ment. As  far  as  material  comfort  went,  they 
found  nothing  of  which  to  complain  ;  for,  al- 
though the  whim  of  pitching  his  tent  in  the 
wilderness  had  seized  Mr.  Rivers,  he  had  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  leave  all  the  luxuries 
of  civilization  behind,  and  as  many  as  were 
compatible  with  a  mountain  plantation,  and  a 
house  built  of  substantial  logs,  had  accom- 
panied him.  His  wife,  too,  was  one  of  the 
women  who  carry  an  air  of  refinement  wher- 
ever they  go ;  and  the  hardy  little  mountain- 
eers who  were  his  children,  though  free  and 
frolicsome  as  little  kids,  were  still  full  of  the 
instinctive  courtesy  and  winning  grace  of  born 
gentlefolks.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  very  smil- 
ing and  happy  home  to  which  the  exiles  were 
welcomed  ;  and  even  Marion  thought  she  had 
never  seen  a  prettier  picture  than  this  log- 
house,  with  its  many  wings  and  piazzas,  its 
shade-trees  and  embowering  creepers.  Around 
in  every  direction  stretched  the  grand  moun- 
tain-ranges, clad  in  their  garments  of  primeval 
forests,  and  before  the  door  of  the  house  swept 
a  limpid  mountain-river,  sparkling  and  foam- 
ing as  it  dashed  along  on  its  way  to  join  the 
French  Broad  not  far  below.  It  is  creditable 
to  the  two  girls  to  say  that  for  a  time  they 
were  so  much  enchanted  by  the  exuberant 
beauty  and  overflowing  vitality  of  this  fair 
region,  and  so  ready  to  echo  Mr.  Rivers's  en- 
thusiastic praise  of  its  pure  air  and  life-restor- 
ing powers,  that  they  almost  forgot  the  gay 
social  circle  they  had  left  behind,  the  friends, 
and  even  the  admirers  who  were  mourning 
their  absence.  Whether  one  of  them  entirely 
forgot  the  lover  who  was  the  cause  of  her 
banishment,  is  a  matter  open  to  doubt ;  but 
at  least  she  did  not  regret  him  very  effusively, 
and  threw  herself  with  very  sincere  zest  into 
the  simple  pleasures  of  their  daily  life.  Mrs. 
Rivers,  who  had  feared  that  she  would  find  a 
moping,  lovesick  damsel  on  her  hands,  was 
dehghted  beyond  measure  with  this  bright 
creature,  who  took  an  interest  in  the  cows  and 
calves  almost  equal  to  her  own  ;  who  went  on 
long  rambles  with  the  children,  coming  back 
laden  down  with  sweet  wild  flowers,  and  lus- 
cious wild  fruits,  and  who  never  seemed  to 
think  it  necessary  to  revenge  herself  on  her 
entertainers  for  the  chance  which  had  thrown 
her  into  their  care. 


Still  Marion  and  her  friend  were  mortal 
young  ladies,  with  all  the  tastes  and  desires 
of  their  age  and  class.  The  view  from  their 
new  home  was  very  magnificent ;  but  some- 
times they  could  not  help  feeling  that  it  would 
be  improved  if  there  was  even  a  glimpse  to  be 
obtained  of  another  roof,  or  the  smoke  of  an- 
other chimney — if  their  nearest  neighbor  had 
been  at  all  companionable,  or  had  lived  with 
something  less  than  ten  miles  of  mountain- 
country  between  them.  As  it  was,  they  were 
entirely  isolated,  and,  after  they  had  exhaust- 
ed all  the  books  and  played  all  the  music, 
they  began  to  find  that  time  hung  a  little  heavy 
on  their  hands. 

"  Nellie,"  said  Marion,  after  she  had 
yawned  five  times  consecutively  one  afternoon, 
"  let  us  call  the  children  and  go  to  walk.  I 
am  tired  to  death  of  doing  nothing,  and  even 
scrambling  over  the  rocks  will  be  an  occupa- 
tion." 

"I  am  sure  I  am  willing,"  said  Nellie, 
lazily.  "  Only  there's  a  very  dark  cloud 
coming  up  from  the  south,  and  I  confess  I 
should  not  like  to  be  caught  in  one  of  these 
mountain-rains.  They  would  sweep  us  liter- 
ally away." 

"  I  wonder  if  anybody  would  mind  that  ?  " 
said  Marion,  meditatively.  "  I  wonder  if  Al- 
ston would  think  I  had  drowned  myself  in 
sheer  despair,  and  if  he  would  commit  suicide 
in  consequence  ?  Dear  me,  Nell,  it  has  been 
more  than  a  month  since  we  came  here  !  Who 
would  believe  it  ?  " 

"I,  for  one,"  replied  Nell,  with  a  shrug. 
"  Without  meaning  any  disrespect  to  any- 
body, I  have  been  in  more  hvely  places. 
Suppose  we  do  go  out  and  get  swept  away, 
Marion  ?  It  would  make  a  sensation  at  home, 
and  win  at  least  a  nine-days'  fame  for  us." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  even  the  nine-days'  fame," 
said  Marion,  laughing,  and  walking  to  the  win- 
dow. "  Look  ! — see  how  that  cloud  is  sweep- 
ing up.  In  five  minutes  the  storm  will  be  on 
us." 

In  less  than  five  minutes,  Mrs.  Rivers  came 
hurrying  in,  and  advised  that  the  windows 
should  be  closed.  "  It  is  no  ordinary  storm 
that  is  coming,"  she  added.  "That  cloud, 
and  this  sudden,  dead  calm  mean  mischief. 
Don't  stand  in  the  open  draught  that  way, 
Marion  !  You  have  no  idea  how  dangerous 
it  is  !  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Marion,  and  she 
kept  her  position,  watching  with  interest  the 


THE   PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


Ill 


premonitions  of  coming  storm  that  seemed  to 
seize  all  Xature.  The  black,  livid  cloud, 
which  a  few  minutes  before  had  been  a  mere 
speck  on  the  horizon,  now  entirely  obscured 
the  sunlight,  and  was  spreading  rapidly  over 
the  sky,  overcasting  the  bright  day  witli  grim 
determination.  But  as  yet  all  was  silent.'  The 
trees  were  hushed  as  if  spellbound,  and  the 
only  sound  on  the  air  was  that  of  the  birds 
which  were  flying  about  and  seeking  refuge 
under  the  eaves  of  the  house,  with  low,  dis- 
tressed cries.  The  air  was  heavy  and  close, 
and,  involuntarily,  Marion  gasped  for  breath. 
"  What  a  dead  hush  there  is  !  "  she  said ;  and, 
as  she  said  it,  her  eyes  chanced  to  fall  on  two 
strangers  who  had  crossed  the  stream  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  were  advancing  up  the  lawn 
with  the  evident  intention  of  seeking  shelter. 
They  were  men,  young,  stalwart,  and  dressed 
in  travelling-suits  of  nondescript  material,  and 
yet  more  nondescript  color.  But,  although  the 
knapsacks  which  they  carried  proved  that  they 
were  foot-travellers,  a  single  glance  showed  Mar- 
ion that  they  belonged  to  a  grade  of  society  rare- 
ly represented  in  that  rough  region.  She  turned 
round  to  call  Mrs.  Rivers's  attention  to  them ; 
but,  as  she  did  so,  there  came  a  vivid  flash  of 
dazzling,  blinding  light,  a  clap  of  thunder  that 
shook  the  house  until  it  quivered,  a  crash  that 
sounded  as  if  the  solid  mountains  had  been 
rent  asunder,  and  a  hurricane  of  wind  that  tore 
through  the  chamber,  filling  it  with  din  and  up- 
roar, and  throwing  her  prostrate  on  the  floor. 

The  next  thing  she  heard,  even  above  the 
tumult  of  the  now  raging  storm,  was  a  scream 
from  Mrs.  Rivers. 

"  Look  ! "  she  cried,  "  the  large  oak  has 
been  struck  by  lightning  !  " 

Marion  sprung  to  her  feet,  Xellie  rushed 
forward,  and,  regardless  of  danger,  they  all 
three  clustered  and  clung  around  the  window. 
They  saw  then  the  meaning  of  the  crash  which 
had  sounded  so  fearfully  in  their  ears  a  mo- 
ment before.  A  gigantic  oak  just  in  front  of 
the  house  had  attracted  the  electric  fluid,  and 
its  mighty  trunk  had  been  literally  cleft  asun- 
der— one  half  still  standing,  but  the  other  por- 
tion lying  across  the  lawn,  and  Including  in  its 
downfall  two  or  three  of  the  smaller  trees,  and 
part  of  the  piazza-roof.  A  tempest  of  wind 
and  rain  was  sweeping  by,  but  still  they  were 
able  to  perceive  that  a  man — only  one — was 
fighting  his  way  to  the  house,  and  that  Mr. 
Rivers,  with  two  or  three  servants,  was  hurry- 
ing out  to  meet  him.     When  they  met,  the 


stranger  said  a  few  words  in  an  excited  man- 
ner, then  turned  and  went  back,  pausing  and 
steadying  himself  as  well  as  he  could  where 
the  boughs  of  the  fallen  oak  lay  wildly  tossing 
about. 

"  There  were  two  of  them,"  said  Marion, 
with  a  shudder.     "  One  has  been  struck." 

As  she  spoke,  she  saw  two  of  the  servants 
unite  their  strength  in  lifting  aside  one  heavy 
limb  of  the  tree,  while  Mr.  Rivers  and  the 
stranger  drew  an  apparently  senseless  figure 
from  beneath  it,  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  the 
whirling,  driving  storm,  they  bore  it  to  the 
house. 

The  ladies  ran  down-stairs,  and  met  them 
in  the  lower  hall.  The  injured  man  had  been 
laid  down,  and  a  throng  of  children  and  ser- 
vants wei'e  about  him  when  they  advanced. 
On  one  side  knelt  Mr.  Rivers,  endeavoring  to 
discover  the  extent  of  his  injuries,  and  on  the 
other  his  companion,  feeling  his  pulse,  and 
anxiously  calling  his  name. 

"  Vance,  Vance,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  fellow, 
are  you  much  hurt  ?  " 

Marion  and  NelUe,  who  had  paused  in  the 
background,  exchanged  glances  of  commisera- 
tion. "  Poor  fellow,"  whispered  the  former, 
"  look  how  young  and  handsome  he  is  !  He 
may  be  only  stunned  by  the  fall  of  the  tree, 
not  by  the  lightning.  I  wonder  if  they  have 
tried  restoratives. — Aunt  Sophie — " 

She  turned  eagerly  toward  Mrs.  Rivers, 
but  Mrs.  Rivers  had  left  her  side,  and  was  at 
that  moment  bendmg  over  the  stranger.  "Salts 
of  ammonia  might  restore  him,"  she  went  on, 
quickly.  "  I'll  go  for  some. — Wouldn't  you, 
Nell  ? '"' 

Before  Xell  could  answer,  she  was  gone, 
speeding  away  like  a  deer,  and  returning  in  a 
moment  with  a  small  vmaigrdte.  Travers, 
bending  over  his  friend  in  an  agony  of  fear 
and  anxiety,  was  not  aware  that  any  one  was 
near  him,  until  a  soft  hand  put  sometljing 
into  his  own,  and  a  soft  voice  said  : 

"  Try  that.     It  may  restore  him." 

Mechanically  he  looked  down,  and,  seeing 
that  it  was  a  smellmg-bottlc,  held  it  to  his 
friend's  nostrils.  The  salts  were  strong,  and 
the  effect  was  instantaneous.  Lorimer  gave  a 
gasp,  and  his  lids  lifted — the  eyes  opening,  as 
it  chanced,  full  on  Marion's  face.  Every  mem- 
ber of  the  group  saw  his  violent  start ;  but 
only  Travers  understood  him  when  he  raised 
his  head,  crying,  "  The  picture !  "  and  then 
sank  back  fainting. 


112 


THE   PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


There  was  a  great  commotion.  In  a  meas- 
ure, they  were  reassured  by  perceiving  that 
he  had  not  been  shocked  by  electricity  ;  but 
they  soon  discovered  that  one  shoulder  had 
been  dislocated  by  the  fall  of  the  tree.  So  he 
was  carried  to  a  chamber,  and  such  remedies 
applied  by  Mr.  Rivers  (who  was  a  very  good 
doctor  in  an  amateur  way)  as  would  best  in- 
sure repose. 

"  The  poor  fellow  jerked  his  shoulder — was 
the  reason  ho  fainted,"  he  said.  "We  must 
put  it  in  place,  and  then  every  thing  must  be 
kept  quiet." 

Putting  the  shoulder  in  place  was,  after 
some  difficulty,  accomplished ;  but  keeping 
every  thing  quiet  was  another  matter,  since 
the  whole  household  was  in  a  fever  of  excite- 
ment over  this  unexpected  event.  Indeed, 
considering  their  quiet  habits,  they  had  reason 
enough  for  excitement.  A  storm,  almost  un- 
exampled for  violence,  was  raging ;  the  river 
was  rising  rapidly ;  the  old  oak  was  shivered  ; 
the  piazza-roof  was  knocked  off;  one  of  the 
horses  had  been  killed  by  lightning  ;  and  two 
strangers — one  of  them  dying,  or  next  thing 
to  it — were  in  the  house  !  In  all  her  life,  Mrs. 
Rivers  had  never  had  so  much  trouble  to  keep 
the  children  within  even  moderate  bounds  of 
good  behavior.  Nor  was  the  excitement  re- 
stricted to  the  children.  Marion  and  Nellie 
shared  it  in  no  small  degree,  and  laughingly 
admitted  as  much  to  each  other. 

"  It  comes  of  the  life  we  have  been  lead- 
ing," said  Miss  Forrest,  philosophically.  "  We 
are  in  the  condition  of  being  '  pleased  by  a 
rattle,  and  tickled  with  a  straw,'  in  the  way  of 
sensations.  Not  that  I  think  this  is  either  a 
rattle  or  a  straw !  Heavens  !  what  a  flash  that 
was !     I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  poor  fellow's 
face,  as  he  lay  insensible,"  said  Marion  ;  "  and, 
when  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  looked  at  me 
more  strangely  than  you  can  imagine.  He  ab- 
solutely might  have  thought  I  was  a  ghost ! 
And,  then,  his  exclamation — did  you  hear  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.     It  was  a  strange  thing  to  say." 

"  And  he  said  it,  looking  straight  at  me,  as 
if  /was  the  picture  he  meant.  When  he  sank 
back,  I  really  thought  for  a  moment  he  was 
dead." 

"  I  wonder  what  put  a  picture  in  his 
head  ?  "  said  Nelly,  musingly. 

"  They  are  artists,"  said  Mrs.  Rivers,  who 
was  sitting  in  the  room,  not  far  from  the  two 
girls — "  they  are  artists,  out  on  a  walking  and 


sketching  tour.  Tiie  one  who  was  uninjured 
told  Mr,  Rivers  that  they  were  coming  here  to 
seek  shelter  when  the  storm  overtook  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Marion;  "I  saw  them.  I  had 
just  turned  round  to  tell  you,  when  the  flash 
came,  and  put  every  thing  else  out  of  my  head. 
The  poor  fellow  who  is  hurt  was  well  and 
strong  then.     How  sad  it  seems  !  " 

"  It  would  seem  much  more  sad  if  he  was 
dead,"  said  the  matter-of-fact  Nellie.  "As  it 
is,  I  hope  he  is  not  much  hurt.  Mr.  Rivers 
says  not.  —  0  Tom,  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
that ! " 

She  broke  off  in  this  way,  as  a  little  darkey 
came  in  with  his  arms  full  of  light-wood  knots, 
and  began  piling  them  up  in  the  empty  fire- 
place. After  he  had  erected  his  edifice,  one 
stroke  of  a  match  set  fire  to  it,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment a  light,  sparkhng  blaze  was  filling  the 
room  with  ruddy  cheer.  The  ladies  gathered 
round  eagerly — even  in  midsummer  a  heavy 
mountain-rain  leaves  the  atmosphere  unpleas- 
antly cold — and  they  were  grouped  together, 
laughing  and  talking,  when  Mr.  Rivers,  ac- 
companied by  Travers,  entered.  Both  gentle- 
men thought  it  a  pleasant  scene ;  but  the 
young  artist  was  especially  charmed,  the  more 
so  in  consideration  of  his  long  exile  from  any 
thing  which  bore  even  the  faintest  stamp  of 
such  refinement  as  was  plainly  to  be  seen 
here.  He  looked  at  the  room  with  its  grace- 
ful furniture  and  pictures,  its  open  piano  and 
books,  and  at  the  ladies  in  their  elegant  dress- 
es and  glossy  coronals  of  hair.  Then  he  turned 
to  Mr.  Rivers,  saying,  in  a  tone  the  sincerity 
of  which  could  not  be  doubted  : 

"  If  poor  Lorimer  were  only  well,  how 
much  he  would  enjoy  this !  " 

The  ladies  overheard  the  remark,  and 
looked  at  each  other  with  a  smile.  Every 
one  liked  him  the  better  for  this  frank  un- 
selfishness, this  quick  remembrance  of  his 
friend  where  many  a  man  would  only  have 
thought  of  himself.  And,  when  he  came  for- 
ward and  was  presented  to  them,  they  gave 
him  such  a  warm  and  cordial  welcome  as  Car- 
olinians like  to  think  that  only  they  know  how 
to  give.  They  soon  found  that  he  was  a  thor- 
ough-bred gentleman ;  and,  when  once  the  ice 
of  first  acquaintance  was  thawed,  they  enjoyed 
his  society  as  much  as,  or  more  than,  he  did 
theirs.  He  was  a  genial  companion,  and  it 
was  a  very  pleasant  evening  which  ensued.  In 
the  studios  of  Diisseldorf,  his  talent  as  a  ra- 
conteur had  been  fully  appreciated  ;  so  it  was 


THE  PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


113 


no  wonder  that  tbey  enjoyed  the  history  of 
his  adventures,  and  the  more  because,  by  a 
few  happy  touches,  he  always  took  care  to 
throw  the  chief  glory  of  his  narrative  on  poor, 
wounded  Vance.  Then,  at  their  request,  he 
brought  out  his  sketch-book ;  and,  by  the 
time  its  contents  were  sufficiently  admired, 
the  usual  hour  of  retiring  had  long  since 
passed,  and  it  was  time  to  say  "  Good-night." 
It  was  said,  therefore,  with  many  compliments 
on  both  sides,  many  wishes  for  the  injured 
gentleman's  speedy  recovery,  and  many  laugh- 
ing congratulations  that  the  storm  had  blown 
such  a  pleasant  visitor  within  their  doors. 
Marion  and  Nellie  congratulated  each  other 
warmly  on  this  fact  when  they  were  in  their 
chamber,  and  said  that  a  thing  more  charming 
could  not  possibly  have  occurred.  Of  course, 
if  they  had  been  at  home,  it  would  have  seemed 
a  matter  of  small  importance;  but,  out  in  the 
depths  of  the  wild  woods,  a  pedestrian  artist, 
who  was  also  a  polished  gentleman,  was  a  rara 
avis  not  to  be  despised.  Then  they  talked  of 
his  companion,  and  wondered  if  he  would  soon 
be  well,  and  if  he  would  tell  them  then  what 
he  meant  by  that  strange  exclamation.  They 
could  not  forget  about  this,  but  went  on  mar- 
velling over  it,  and  exhausting  imagination  in 
conjectures.  It  was  a  pity  they  had  not  been 
the  possessors  of  Hassan's  invisible  cap ;  for, 
if  they  could  only  have  entered  the  room  of 
the  strangers,  and  heard  a  conversation  then 
in  progress,  their  curiosity  would  have  been 
gratified.  Lorimer  was  wide  awake,  and,  after 
Mr.  Rivers  had,  with  many  directions  and  good 
wishes,  left  the  room,  he  addressed  himself 
eagerly  to  his  friend  : 

"  Well,  Franzerl,  what  is  she  like?  " 

"  Amazingly  like  the  picture,"  Travers  an- 
swered ;  "  yet  not  so  much  like  as  to  justify 
your  fainting  away,  Yanee." 

"  It  was  the  shoulder  made  me  faint,"  said 
Vance.  "  Confound  the  thing — how  it  did 
hurt  !  But,  Frank,  I  never  was  more  aston- 
ished in  my  hfe  than  when  I  opened  my  eyes 
on  that  face — the  very  face  of  my  dream.  It 
sent  a  thrill  through  me  as  if  I  had  seen  a 
ghost." 

"  You  looked  as  if  you  had,"  said  Frank, 
dryly. 

"Did  anybody  notice  it?  Did  thoy  ask 
you  about  it  ?  " 

"  They  must  have  noticed  it ;  but  they  are 
too  well-bred  to  ask  about  it.  I  never  saw 
more  cultivated  people,  Vance.    And  yet  they 


are  buried  here  among  crackers  and  rattle- 
snakes.    Isn't  it  a  strange  taste  ?  " 

"  They  love  man  Jess  and  Nature  more  than 
most  of  us  do,"  said  Vance.  "  But  that  face ! 
It  haunts  me  ;  I  cannot  get  over  the  shock  the 
first  sight  of  it  gave  me.  Frank,  do  you  think 
I  have  been  brought  here  to  meet  her  ?  " 

"  To  get  your  shoulder  dislocated,  more 
likely.  Nonsense,  Vance  !  She  resembles 
your  picture,  but  in  no  extraordinary  degree. 
The  same  general  cast  of  feature,  the  same 
eyes  and  hair — that  is  all.  Your  fancy  has 
done  the  rest." 

"  My  fancy  has  done  nothing,"  said  Vance, 
decidedly.  "  I  tell  you  it  is  the  very  face  of 
my  dream !  It  has  a  different  expression — 
that  is  all  the  change.  Frank,  you  cannot 
imagine  how  strangely  it  has  made  me  feel." 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  shortly ;  "  but  I  can  im- 
agine that  it  will  put  you  in  a  fever,  if  you  go 
on  at  this  rate.  Deuce  take  the  picture,  and 
every  thing  connected  with  it !  Do  stop  talk- 
ing, and  go  to  sleep.  There's  an  opiate  here 
the  old  gentleman  said  I  was  to  give  you  if 
you  didn't.  On  my  honor,  Vance,  you'll  find, 
when  you  see  the  girl,  that  there  is  no  such 
astonishing  likeness.  She  is  charming,  how- 
ever, and  the  other  one — there  is  another  one, 
you  know — even  more  so.  You  had  better 
get  well,  and  make  their  acquaintance ;  and 
you  won't  get  well,  if  you  don't  stop  talking." 

"  It  is  she  !  "  said  Vance. 

But  he  spoke  softly,  as  if  to  himself,  and 
after  that  he  lay  quite  still.  Perhaps  Travers's 
last  remonstrance  had  some  effect,  for  he  said 
no  more,  and  before  very  long  sunk  to  sleep. 
In  an  hour  or  two  he  woke  suddenly,  with  a 
gasp  and  a  start. 

More  vividly  than  ever  before,  the  dream 
had  come  to  him. 

IV. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Rivers  found  his 
patient  in  a  very  feverish  and  unfavorable 
condition.  The  shoulder  was  worse  instead 
of  better,  the  bruises  were  exceedingly  pain- 
ful, the  pulse  was  racing  along  at  a  more  rapid 
rate  than  promised  well  for  physical  good, 
and,  on  the  whole,  he  thought  it  necessary  to 
issue  an  immediate  order  for  close  confine- 
ment and  medical  treatment.  Vance  rebelled 
a  little  at  first,  but  was  brought  to  terms  by 
Mrs.  Rivers,  whose  bright  face  and  gentle 
voice  worked  such  a  magical  transformation 
the  moment  she  entered  his  room,  that  he 


114 


THE   PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


succumbed  at  once  into  her  hands,  and  yielded 
himself  captive  without  even  a  desire  for  res- 
cue. She  was  light  in  her  rule,  however,  and 
only  made  him  keep  quiet,  leaving  the  medical 
question  entirely  to  her  husband,  and  pro- 
viding, on  her  part,  dainty  invalid  dishes  and 
invalid  amusement.  Vance  was  charmed,  and, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  that  face,  of  which  he 
had  only  caught  a  glimpse — that  strange, 
beautiful,  haunting  face  that  had  so  often 
shone  on  him  in  his  dream — ^he  would  have 
asked  nothing  better  than  to  play  invalid  in 
this  pleasant,  airy  chamber,  with  such  a  glo- 
rious mountain-view  through  the  window  near 
at  hand,  and  such  a  sweet-faced,  silver-voiced 
nurse  to  redeem  even  sickness  from  being 
dull. 

This  enjoyment  was  not  of  long  duration, 
however.  On  the  third  day  he  was  emanci- 
pated from  durance,  and  suffered  to  make  one 
of  the  group  who  with  books  and  work  were 
gathered  on  the  shady  lawn  not  far  from  the 
spot  where  he  had  been  struck  down.  In  three 
days  Travers  had  managed  to  make  himself 
thoroughly  at  home ;  and  Vance,  who  knew 
his  free-and-easy  ways,  was  not  surprised  when 
he  came  out  with  Mrs.  Rivers,  and  found  him 
reading  aloud  to  the  young  ladies,  as  if  he 
had  known  them  for  months  instead  of  days. 
Vance  himself  had  none  of  this  ggnial  ease 
about  him.  He  was,  if  any  thing,  a  more 
polished  gentleman  than  his  friend,  more  full 
of  inborn,  stately  graces,  more  keenly  alive  to 
shades  of  social  courtesy,  more  full  of  social 
tact,  but  he  lacked  almost  entirely  the  gay 
bonhomie  and  frank  good-fellowship  that  made 
Travers  so  popular  wherever  he  went;  and, 
lacking  this,  he  lacked  every  thing  that  was 
worth  having  in  the  ej'cs  of  a  great  many  men 
and  women  of  the  world. 

"  We  are  all  thoroughly  charmed  with 
your  friend,"  Mrs.  Rivers  said,  as  they  came 
out  of  the  house  together ;  and,  looking  at 
the  group  on  the  lawn,  Vance  answered,  with 
a  smile : 

"  I  can  well  believe  that,  and  I  don't  won- 
der at  it.  Travers  is  such  a  good  fellow  that 
he  deserves  to  charm  everybody.  He  charmed 
me,  I  am  sure. — How  pleasant  this  looks  !  " 

"  We  sit  here  a  great  deal,"  said  Mrs. 
Rivers ;  and,  as  they  approached,  she  spoke 
to  Marion,  who  was  next  her  :  "  My  dear,  here 
is  Mr.  Lorimer,  who,  I  am  glad  to  say,  is  well 
enough  at  last  to  join  us.     I  hope — " 

What  she  hoped  was  left   to  conjecture, 


for,  as  she  spoke,  Mai-ion  turned  round,  and 
her  face,  thus  suddenly  presented  to  Lorimer's 
gaze,  made  him  stagger  back  without  a  word, 
and  sit  down  in  a  chair  near  at  hand.  For  his 
life  he  could  not  help  it.  He  knew  how 
strangely  such  conduct  must  appear ;  he  knew 
that  three  pairs  of  eyes  were  regarding  him 
with  profound  astonishment ;  he  knew  how  he 
had  prepared  himself  for  this  meeting,  aware 
that  it  must  come,  but  yet  he  could  not  help 
it,  and  he  could  not  say  a  word.  The  weird 
feeling  that  we  all  know  when  any  thing  border- 
ing on  the  supernatural  comes  near  us  seized 
him  without  any  warning,  and,  try  as  he 
would,  he  found  himself  tongue-tied,  with  the 
face  of  his  dream  looking  at  him.  It  was 
Travers  who  spoke  first,  coming  to  his  rescue 
with  commendable  quickness. 

"  Vance,  you  shouldn't  have  forgotten  that 
you  are  still  an  invalid.  Shall  I  get  you  some 
water  ?     You  look  quite  faint." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Vance,  with  a  grateful 
look.  Then  he  glanced  up  at  Marion.  "  Miss 
Rivers,  pray  excuse  me.  A  sudden  faintness 
— a  giddiness — quite  overcame  me.  I  had  no 
idea  I  was  so  weak." 

"It  would  be  strange  if  you  were  not," 
said  Marion,  kindly.  "  Do  sit  still.  Will  you 
not  have  a  fan  ?  " 

He  took  one  which  she  handed  to  him, 
laughing  to  himself  the  while  that  he,  of  all 
people,  should  be  playing  hysterical  fine  gen- 
tleman at  this  rate.  Mrs.  Rivers  sent  Travers 
for  some  water,  and  levied  upon  Miss  Forrest 
for  sal-volatile.  With  the  aid  of  these  two 
restoratives,  he  was  at  last  allowed  to  declare 
himself  recovered,  and  to  be  believed.  After 
this  small  excitement  subsided,  Travers  fin- 
ished one  of  Aytoun's  "  Lays  "  that  he  had 
been  reading  aloud ;  and  then  Richard — that 
is,  Mr.  Lorimer — was  himself  again.  Marion 
thought  him  quite  as  handsome  as  she  had 
thought  him  when  he  lay  pale  and  stunned  on 
the  day  of  the  storm ;  but  she  could  not  help 
noticing — a  woman  of  perceptions,  less  quick 
than  her  own,  must  have  noticed — tliat,  from 
some  cause,  her  appearance,  her  manner,  her 
voice,  every  thing  about  her,  had  a  singular 
attraction  for  him.  It  was  not  exactly  admira- 
tion— she  had  been  too  long  accustomed  to 
that  to  mistake  it — nor  curiosity,  nor  any 
thing  else  for  which  there  is  a  definite  name  ; 
but  an  interest  that  puzzled  her  by  its  singu- 
larity, and  yet  fascinated  her  by  its  intentness. 
More  than  once  she  caught  those  clear- blue 


THE  PAINTER'S  DREAIT. 


115 


eyes  regarding  her  with  a  gaze  so  keen  and 
strange  that  it  amused,  even  while  it  per- 
plexed her. 

"  I  wonder  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  " 
she  thought.  "  People  don't  usually  look  at 
me  as  if  I  had  lost  my  nose,  or  suffered  some 
other  calamity  of  the  sort.  I  must  ask  Nel- 
lie what  the  meaning  of  it  can  be." 

When  they  went  to  the  house,  she  carried 
this  intention  into  execution,  and  Nellie,  in 
reply,  told  her  the  history  of  the  dream-pict- 
ure which  Travers  had  meanwhile  been  relat- 

« 

ing  to  her. 

As  may  naturally  be  supposed,  Marion  was 
very  much  excited  and  interested — the  more 
so  when  she  remembered  the  exclamation  Lori- 
mer  had  made  on  first  seeing  her  face,  and 
understood  now  what  it  meant. 

"  But  it  cannot  be ! "  she  cried.  "  I  must 
only  resemble  his  picture.  It  is  so  strange  ! 
— Nellie,  I  should  not  like  to  think  it  was  I ! " 

"  Mr.  Travers  says  it  might  pass  for  your 
portrait,"  Nellie  answered.  "Every  line  of 
the  face  is  identical,  and  the  only  difference  is 
in  expression.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard 
him  describing  the  manner  in  which  the  pict- 
ure fascinated  Mr.  Lorimer.  It  was  tOvget 
away  from  it  that  they  came  out  here." 

"And  ran  full  tilt  on  the  original,"  said 
Marion.  "  It  is  laughable,  and  yet  it  is  awe- 
some. It  is  like  spiritualism  or  clairvoyant 
nonsense,  Nellie.  I  don't — I  cannot  believe  it ! " 

"  I  only  know  what  Mr.  Travers  told  me," 
said  Nellie.  "But  I  should  like  amazingly 
to  see  the  picture  and  judge  for  myself." 

"  So  should  I,"  returned  Marion,  medita- 
tively. 

And  there,  for  the  time  being,  the  subject 
dropped. 

It  was  renewed  again  that  evening  when 
they  were  all  assembled  in  the  drawing-room, 
and,  thanks  to  Travers  and  Nellie,  canvassed 
openly.  With  some  hesitation,  Lorimer  was 
induced  to  tell  the  story  of  the  dream,  of  its 
persistent  recurrence,  of  the  face  that  seemed 
compelhng  him  to  paint  it,  of  the  hold  it  had 
gained  upon  him,  and  the  vivid  manner  in 
which  it  had  returned  at  sight  of  Marion's 
face.  They  were  all  greatly  interested,  and 
every  one  followed  Miss  Forrest's  lead  in 
professing  the  greatest  curiosity  to  see  the 
picture. 

"  If  you  had  only  brought  it  with  you," 
said  Mr.  Rivers,  "I  would  really  give  any 
thing  for  a  glimpse  of  it." 


"  Yance,  haven't  you  the  original  sketch 
in  your  portfolio  ? "  asked  the  irrepressible 
Travers.  "  I  am  almost  sure  I  saw  it  there  the 
other  day." 

Vance  colored,  and  glanced  at  Marion. 

"  I  believe  there  is  a  sketch  there,"  he 
said.  "  But  it  is  only  a  crayon  outline.  I 
could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  leave  every 
thing  about  the  picture  behind." 

"  Show  it  to  us,  Mr.  Lorimer — pray  do," 
said  Mrs.  Rivers. 

And  immediately  there  rose  a  chorus 
of— 

"  Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Lorimer,  pray  do ! " 

Lorimer  hesitated.  Some  instinct  strongly 
warned  him  not  to  comply  with  the  request — 
but  then,  what  excuse  could  he  give  for  re- 
fusal ?  Three  or  four  eager  faces  were  look- 
ing  at  him  in  expectation  of  his  compliance ; 
and  it  would  seem  ungracious  and  churlish  to 
deny  their  curiosity  this  small  gratification. 
Yet  it  was  sorely  against  his  will  that  at  last 
he  said : 

"  I  will  go  and  look  for  it." 

He  was  not  long  gone.  The  portfolio 
must  have  been  very  near  at  hand,  for  he  soon 
returned  with  a  small  crayon-sketch,  which 
he  gave  to  Mrs.  Rivers. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  you  will  see  the  like- 
ness," he  said.  "  This  is  very  carelessly  done ; 
but  it  is  the  outline." 

It  might  have  been  carelessly  done,  but 
still  there  was  graphic  power  in  every  stroke, 
and  the  whole  scene  was  transcribed  as  for- 
cibly and  clearly,  if  not  quite  as  elaborately, 
as  on  the  canvas  left  behind  in  the  forsaken 
studio.  Mrs.  Rivers  had  evidently  been  quite 
unprepared  for  any  thing  like  this.  She  ut- 
tered an  exclamation  of  mingled  amazement 
and  admiration  when  her  glance  fell  on  the 
paper. 

"What  a  strongly-drawn  scene!"  she 
cried.  "Why,  this  girl  is  Marion  herself! — 
Mr.  Lorimer,  it  cannot  be  that  you  drew  it  be- 
fore you  saw  her  !  " 

Lorimer  pointed  to  a  date  two  months 
back,  which  was  inscribed  in  a  corner  of  the 
drawing.  "  This  was  the  first  sketch  I  made," 
he  said.     "  It  was  drawn  on  that  day." 

"  It  is  incredible  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Rivers,  using 
the  exclamation  as  people  do,  without  exactly 
meaning  that  it  was  incredible.  Then  she- 
held  the  drawing  at  ann's-length,  and  appealed 
to  the  company  in  general.  "  Look  !  did  you 
ever  see  a  more  striking  likeness  ?  " 


116 


THE   PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


"It  is  perfect,"  said  Mr.  Rivers,  looking 
over  her  shoulder.  "Every  feature,  every 
line. — Mr.  Lorimcr,  I  would  never  have  be- 
lieved this  excepting  from  actual  sight.  And 
that  man !  Surely,  I  have  seen  his  face  some- 
where." 

"I  have  never  seen  him,"  said  Yance, 
quietly.  "  I  can  believe  any  thing,  however, 
after  meeting  Miss  Rivers." 

"Let  mc  see,"  said  Nellie,  crossing  the 
room.  She  took  the  sketch,  and  the  next 
moment  gave  a  scream. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  she  cried.  "  There  is 
something  uncanny  about  this !  The  girl  may 
be  like  Marion,  but  the  man  is  Alston  Ray- 
ford  ! " 

"  What !  "  cried  Mr.  Rivers,  while  his  wife 
looked  quickly  at  Yance,  and  Marion  came 
forward  quite  pale. 

"Give  it  to  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
And,  while  she  took  the  sketch  and  stood 
looking  intently  at  it,  there  was  not  a  sound 
audible  in  the  room.  Instinctively,  the  two 
strangers  felt  that  something  awkward  bad 
occurred,  or  was  about  to  occur;  and  the 
others  all  held  their  breath,  gazing  at  Marion's 
face.  It  was  not  an  encouraging  face  by  any 
means,  for  it  hardened  and  whitened  while 
they  gazed,  the  sunny  beauty  fading  out  of  it, 
and  a  stern,  settled  resentment  like  her  father's 
coming  o^er  it.  After  a  minute  or  two,  she 
laid  down  the  drawing,  and  looked  at  Yance. 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Lorimer  means  us  to  be- 
lieve that  this  also  was  part  of  the  dream  ?  " 
she  said,  in  such  a  cold  and  haughty  voice 
that  Yance  colored  and  drew  himself  up,  as 
almost  any  man  would  have  been  apt  to  do. 

"  It  was  certainly  part  of  the  dream.  Miss 
Rivers,"  he  answered,  as  coldly  as  herself. 
"  That  is  the  first  sketch  I  ever  made  of  it — 
exactly  as  it  appeared  to  me  then,  and  has 
appeared  to  me  always." 

"  And  you  never  saw  Mr.  Rayford  or  my- 
self before  drawing  this  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  yourself,  and,  as  for  Mr. 
Rayford,  I  never  even  heard  of  him  before. 
If  that  resembles  him,  it  was  from  no  inten- 
tion on  my  part  of  drawing  a  likeness  of  any 
face  save  the  one  seen  in  my  dream." 

He  spoke  proudly ;  for  he  saw  that  the  in- 
credulity on  Marion's  face  deepened,  instead 
of  disappearing  at  his  words.  She  glanced  at 
the  sketch,  and  then  back  at  him,  with  a  sig- 
nificance that  hardly  needed  the  aid  of  lan- 
guage to  express  its  indignant  disbelief. 


"  I  am  sure  Marion  does  not  mean — "  be- 
gan Mrs.  Rivers,  eagerly.  But  Marion  inter- 
rupted her,  coldly. 

"  Excuse  me,  aunt,  but  I  think  Mr.  Lorimer 
understands  what  I  mean.  This  is  a  day  of 
marvels,"  she  went  on,  looking  at  the  young 
artist  ;  "  and  wonders  of  all  kinds  abound ; 
but  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  ever  heard  any 
thing  like  the  story  you  propose  to  our  belief. 
I  am  a  matter-of-fact  person,  and  this  must 
excuse  my  incapacity  to  credit  that  you  drew 
these  striking  portraits  of  Mr.  Rayford  and 
mvself  without  ever  having  seen  either  of  us. 
Why  you  should  have  shown  them  to  me,  I 
cannot  imagine.  But  of  one  thing  I  feel  sure 
— that  you  did  well  in  selecting  me,  for  he 
would  be  even  less  credulous  than  I  have 
proved." 

Then  she  turned,  and,  without  another 
word,  walked  out  of  the  room. 

The  group  left  behind  looked  at  each  other 
as  if  they  had  been  thunderstruck.  Mrs.  and 
Mr.  Rivers,  together  with  Miss  Forrest,  hardly 
knew  what  to  say;  Travers  was  overcome 
with  astonishment,  and  Lorimer  was  burning 
with  indignation.  The  latter  was  the  first  to 
speak — walking  across  the  room,  and  taking 
up  the  sketch,  while  he  addressed  himself  to 
his  host. 

"  I  am  sorry  that,  after  having  made  such 
a  charge.  Miss  Rivers  should  have  gone  away 
without  hearing  my  reply,"  he  said.  "  I  hope, 
sir,  that  you  will  do  me  the  justice  to  believe 
that  I  never  saw  her  imtil  I  entered  this 
house,  and  that  I  have  never  seen  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  she  alludes.  In  fact,  it  is  im- 
possible that  I  should  have  done  so.  I  am  a 
Georgian  by  birth,  but  I  have  spent  many 
years  in  Germany;  and,  since  my  return  to 
America,  I  have  lived  entirely  in  Baltimore. 
With  Carolina,  and  Carolinians,  I  am  wholly 
unacquainted.  As  regards  the  dream,  I  am 
unable  to  offer  the  least  explanation.  It  has 
been  a  mystery  to  me  from  the  first ;  and  I 
need  not  say  that  it  has  grown  even  more 
mysterious  since  I  saw  your  niece.  As  she  ob- 
jects to  even  an  accidental  likeness  of  herself 
remaining  in  my  possession,  I  can  do  this — " 
he  rapidly  tore  the  sketch  iuto  fragments 
— "  and  I  must  beg  you  to  assure  her  that  the 
painting  shall  share  the  same  fate  when  I  go 
back  to  Baltimore." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Lorimer,"  began  Mr.  Rivers 
— but  Mrs.  Rivers  took  the  matter  of  reply  in- 
to her  hands,  and  Quite  bore  him  donn. 


THE  PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


117 


"  iliirion  is  very  much  to  blame,  Mr.  Lori- 
mer,"  she  said,  eagerly;  "but  I  am  sure  she 
Trill  be  very  sorry  for  having  spoken  so.  It  is 
some  excuse  for  her  that  your  drawing  placed 
Mr.  Rayford  in  a  very  equivocal  position.  He 
is  a  gentleman  to  whom  she  is  engaged — or, 
I  should  say,  would  be  engaged,  if  her  father 
had  not  refused  his  consent.  She  is  staying 
with  us  now  on  account  of  this ;  and  of  course 
she  is  very  sensitive  about  any  allusion  to 
him. — Yes,  my  dear,  I  know  these  are  family 
matters — "  this  to  Nellie,  who  had  entered  an 
aside  remonstrance — "but  I  think  Marion's 
friends  owe  Mr.  Lorimer  an  explanation  of 
her  conduct." 

"And  an  apology,"  said  Mr.  Rivers,  find- 
ing an  opportunity  to  speak,  and  embracing  it 
without  loss  of  time.  "  Mr.  Lorimer,  I  am 
truly  sorry  that  my  niece  should  have  forgot- 
ten the  most  common  rules  of  courtesy  in  this 
way.  If  the  picture  was  a  likeness  of  young 
Kayford— " 

"  It  was  a  most  astonishing  likeness,"  in- 
terposed Nellie. 

"I  only  saw  him  once,  and  my  Avife  never 
saw  him  at  all,"  went  on  Mr.  Rivers.  "But 
if  it  teas  a  likeness,  I  don't  see  that  it  justifies 
Marion.  In  fact,  the  only  thing  about  it  is 
that  it  makes  the  dream  more  astonishing — so 
astonishing,  that  it  would  puzzle  a  modern 
Joseph  to  read  it." 

"  I  am  not  a  modem  Joseph,  but  it  puzzles 
me,"  said  Lorimer.  "  I  have  had  only  one 
decided  impression  about  it  from  the  first — 
that  it  would  bring  me  either  very  good  or 
very  bad  luck.  It  has  already  brought  mo  a 
measure  of  both,  in  granting  me  the  pleasure 
of  your  acquaintance,  and  being  the  cause  of 
my  unintentionally  offending  your  niece.  I 
wish  very  much  that  she  had  given  me  an  op- 
portunity to  explain — but  then,  perhaps,  an 
explanation  supported  only  by  assertion  would 
have  done  no  good." 

"  Not  with  an  angry  woman,  and  a  woman 
in  love,"  said  Mr.  Rivers,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders. "  Now,  I  have  one  favor  to  ask — that 
you  will  not  let  this  co)ii re-temps  shorten  your 
stay  with  us." 

Lorimer  looked  at  Travers,  and  there  was 
the  same  unspoken  resolve  in  both  pairs  of 
eyes.     Then  he  glanced  back  at  Mr.  Rivers. 

"  My  dear  sir,  you  are  very  kind,  but  there 
is  no  question  of  shortening  our  stay.  It  has 
already  prolonged  itself  further  than  it  should 
have   done;   and  we   must  leave  to-morrow 


morning.  There  is  nothing  for  us  but  to  thank 
you  for  your  hospitality  and  make  our  adieux." 
Mr.  Rivers,  seconded  by  his  wife  and  Nel- 
lie, said  all  that  it  was  possible  to  say  against 
this  decision;  but  the  two  friends  remained 
firm.  No  argument  or  entreaties  had  any 
effect  on  them ;  and  the  next  morning,  bright 
and  early,  they  took  their  departure,  exchang- 
ing many  cordial  farewells  with  the  rest  of  the 
family,  but  not  even  seeing  Marion,  who  kept 
her  own  room. 


Three  weeks  passed.  By  the  end  of  that 
time,  the  summer  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
Marion  and  Nellie  were  ready  to  hang  them- 
selves from  sheer  ennui.  The  weekly  mail 
was  the  only  thing  that  still  retained  interest 
for  them  ;  and  they  watched  for  this  anxiously 
— hoping  each  time  for  the  welcome  news  of  a 
summons  home.  The  summons  home  did  not 
come,  but  one  day  a  letter  from  Mr.  Alston 
Rayford  did.  Nellie,  who  opened  the  post- 
bag,  knew  the  writing  on  the  envelope,  and 
watched  Marion  anxiously  when  it  was  handed 
to  her.  Miss  Rivers  had  a  good  deal  of  self- 
control,  however,  and  she  did  not  betray  emo- 
tion by  any  sudden  start  or  blush.  She  only 
pocketed  the  missive  very  quietly,  and  after  a 
while  went  up  to  her  own  room.  When  her 
friend  followed,  in  a  flutter  of  excitement, 
she  found  her  sitting  in  an  attitude  of  deep 
thought,  with  the  letter  open  in  her  hand. 
Miss  Forrest  was  hardly  in  the  room  before 
she  broke  into  eager  questioning. 

"  Well,  Marion,  what  is  the  news  ?  Has 
your  father  at  last  consented  ?  " 

Marion  looked  up — pale  as  she  always  grew 
when  other  people  would  have  flushed.  "  Con- 
sented ! — Papa  ?  "  she  said.  "  You  might  as 
well  ask  if  the  river  had  flowed  backward. 
No,_he  has  not  consented.  On  the  contrary, 
he  has  again  refused  Alston,  in  the  most  in- 
sulting manner." 

"  Did  Mr.  Rayford  ask  his  consent  again  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  grew  impatient.  He  could  not 
bear  the  suspense  and  the  long  waiting — men 
never  can,  you  know — and  so  he  went  to  ptipa. 
He  was  repulsed — Nellie,  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
he  was  repulsed." 

"  I  can  imagine,"  said  Nellie,  with  a  signifi- 
cant shrug. 

"  Yes — I  suppose  you  can.  Well,  he  waa 
repulsed,  and  now  he  has  come  to  me." 

"  Come  to  you  !     Not  tip  here  ?  " 


118 


THE  PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


"  Yes,  up  here.  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry  for 
it— I  have  a  contempt  for  any  thing  lilie  clan- 
destine proceedings — but  he  has  come,  and  I 
cannot  refuse  to  see  him." 

"  Mr.  Rivers  will  spare  you  that  trouble," 
said  Nellie,  dryly.  "  I  can  tell  you  before- 
hand that  he  will  never  allow  Mr.  Eayford  to 
meet  you  in  his  house." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  asking  his  consent, 
nor  of  meeting  him  in  this  house,"  said  Mari- 
on, haughtilj'.  "Alston  is  staying,  or  will  be 
staying  soon — this  letter  was  mailed  in  Mor- 
gantown — at  a  farmer's  near  here.  I  shall 
meet  bun  in  the  woods." 

"  Marion ! " 

"  Well,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  That  seems  so — so  clandestine,  and  un- 
worthy of  you." 

"  And  am  I  not  forced  to  it  ?  "  said  Marion, 
flushing  ;  "  when  Alston  has  travelled  hun- 
dreds of  miles  merely  to  see  me,  can  I  send 
him  back  without  a  word  ?  And  where  should 
I  meet  him,  excepting  in  the  woods  ?  The  hill- 
side is  just  as  free  to  him  as  to  us." 

"  I  cannot  think  it  is  right ;  but  if  it  must 
be — when  is  he  to  make  his  appearance  ?  " 

"  That  I  do  not  know.  Mountain  travelling 
is  very  uncertain,  and  he  may  be  in  the  neigh- 
borhood now,  or  he  may  not  arrive  for  several 
days.  He  has  been  here  before,  however,  and 
he  appoints  a  place  of  rendezvous." 

"  I  hope  it  is  a  place  we  know." 

"  Yes.  It  is  the  Old  Ferry.  We  can  walk 
there  easily,  and  he  can  come  by  the  river.  It 
is  a  lonely  place,  and  there  is  no  danger  of 
meeting  anybody." 

"  There  never  is  danger  of  that  in  this  de- 
lightful region.  And  do  you  want  me  to  bear 
you  company?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Marion,  flushing  again. 
"  You  don't  suppose  I  want  to  go  alone  ?  I 
know  you  disapprove  of  it,  Nellie;  and  so  do 
I,  for  that  matter.  But  I  cannot  refuse — and 
it  is  only  for  once." 

"  I  hope  it  may  prove  only  for  once,"  said 
Nellie,  anxiously.  "  Do  we  go  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

"  I  think  we  had  better  do  so." 

So  that  afternoon  they  donned  their  hats 
and  set  forth,  disappointing  the  children  very 
much  by  decUning  to  take  them  along,  but 
otherwise  going  as  if  for  one  of  their  usual 
rambles.  They  followed  a  path  round  the  hills, 
and  soon  came  to  the  place  of  rendezvous — a 
beautiful  nook  of  the  river  where  a  disused 


road  swept  down  to  what  had  once  been  a 
ferry,  and  which  still  retained  the  distinction 
of  the  name,  though  it  had  long  since  lost  the 
distinction  of  the  fact.  Here  they  sat  down  to 
rest,  with  very  little  expectation  of  seeing  Mr. 
Eayford  that  afternoon.  They  were  destined 
to  a  surprise,  however ;  for  they  had  hardly 
finished  agreeing  that  he  would  not  come,  and 
begun  talking  of  views  and  perspective,  and 
the  lovely  mountain-scenes  before  them,  when 
there  was  a  dash  of  oars  in  the  water ;  a  small 
skiff"  shot  round  a  bend  of  the  stream,  and, 
in  another  moment,  Mr.  Alston  Rayford  had 
sprung  on  shore  and  stood  before  them. 

He  looked  as  eager  and  handsome  as  a 
man  should  look  when  he  is  engaged  in  a  ro- 
mantic love-adventure ;  but  he  came  forward 
and  made  his  greetings  with  a  graceful  defer- 
ence which  quite  ignored  the  fact  that  this 
meeting  did  not  take  place  on  a  drawing-room 
carpet.  He  was  a  very  fine  gentleman,  there 
was  not  a  doubt  of  that ;  and  his  manners 
and  appearance  were  unexceptionable.  Yet, 
strangely  enough,  Marion's  first  sensation 
was  one  of  disappointment — such  disappoint, 
ment  as  many  a  girl  has  felt  when,  after  long 
absence,  the  hero  of  her  dreams  is  suddenly 
brought  before  her  in  his  own  proper  person. 
It  is  clearly  impossible  to  guard  against  such 
revulsions,  since  all  women  create  illusions  for 
themselves,  and  all  illusions  must  sooner  or 
later  be  broken.  So  perhaps  it  is  as  good  a 
test  as  any  for  true  love,  whether  or  not  it 
can  survive  the  inevitable  hour  when  glamour 
fades  and  sober  daylight  comes  in.  This  test 
was  now  to  be  applied  to  Marion's  love ;  but 
such  things  are  not  decided  in  a  moment,  or 
in  many  moments — only  it  was  unpromising, 
to  say  the  least,  that  her  first  sensation  was 
not  of  joy,  or  welcome,  or  pride,  but  of  sud- 
den, chill  disappointment.  Yet,  what  disap- 
pointed her  she  could  not  possibly  have  told. 
The  Alston  Rayford  she  had  known,  the  Al- 
ston Eayford  she  had  wished  and  even  prom- 
ised to  marry,  stood  before  her,  unchanged  by 
even  so  much  as  a  shade  ;  and  yet,  something 
was  gone.  The  glamour  of  fancy  had  faded, 
daylight  had  come  in,  and  it  remained  for  the 
future  to  show  whether  himself  and  the  love 
he  had  inspired  would  stand  the  searching  test 
of  that  daylight. 

Before  long,  Miss  Forrest  wandered  away 
on  a  professedly  botanical  excursion,  and  left 
the  lovers  to  themselves.  The  conversation 
which  ensued  was  very  animated,  and  some- 


THE  PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


119 


times  even  verged  on  excitement.  She  could 
see  that,  though  she  could  hear  nothing  from 
the  hill-side  perch  where  she  had  established 
herself,  and  where  her  botanical  researches 
consisted  of  poking  at  a  bunch  of  fi.-rns  with 
the  point  of  her  parasol.  She  was  not  at  all 
romantically  inclined,  and  she  could  not  help 
wishing,  for  her  own  sake  as  well  as  for 
Marion's,  that,  Alston  Rayford  had  stayed  at 
home,  and  had  not  forced  this  "  highly-unprop- 
er  "  proceeding  upon  them.  It  was  tiresome — 
very  tiresome — this  sitting  on  a  stone,  with 
nothing  but  her  own  thoughts  and  a  bunch  of 
ferns  to  amuse  her,  while  Mr.  Rayford  talked 
on  and  on,  in  the  most  unconscionable  manner, 
and  seemed  urging  Marion  to  something  which 
Marion  plainly  refused.  Miss  Forrest  yawned, 
and  wondered  how  long  she  would  have  to 
watch  this  discussion  in  dumb  show.  "  It  is 
as  good  as  a  pantomime,"  she  said  to  herself ; 
but,  somehow,  it  was  not  as  amusing  as  a 
pantomime.  Then  she  caught  a  profile  view 
of  Mr.  Rayford's  face,  and  something  about  it 
recalled  the  crayon-sketch  which  Vance  Lori- 
mer  had  torn  up,  and  set  her  at  work  consid- 
ering what  a  perfect  likeness  it  had  been,  and 
how  she  scarcely  blamed  Marion  for  being  in- 
credulous (as  Marion  still  continued)  of  the 
dream-story  which  purported  to  excuse  it. 
Then  her  thoughts  wandered  away,  following 
the  erratic  footsteps  of  the  two  young  artists 
who  had  come  so  suddenly  into  her  life,  and 
gone  so  abruptly  out  of  it ;  and  she  was  punch- 
ing at  the  ferns  more  vigorously  than  ever, 
and  smiling  to  herself  over  a  remembrance  of 
Frank  Travers's  hazel  eyes  and  pleasant  voice, 
when  the  rattle  of  a  chain  made  her  look  up, 
and  to  her  great  relief  she  saw  that  Mr.  Ray- 
ford was  entering  his  craft  and  pushing  off. 
"  Indeed,  it  is  high  time,"  thought  she,  with 
an  indignant  glance  at  her  watch,  and  then  at 
the  sinking  sun.  She  stood  up,  however,  and 
waved  her  hand  in  answer  to  his  farewell 
gesture ;  then,  while  he  pulled  lazily  out  of 
sight,  went  down  to  meet  Marion,  who  was 
walking  toward  her. 

Marion  looked  vexed  and  overclouded,  and 
not  at  all  as  a  girl  might  be  expected  to  look 
who  had  just  parted  from  her  lover.  There 
was  no  tinge  of  sentimental  sadness  in  her 
a.=pect,  no  token  of  the  regret  that  is  in  itself 
a  pleasure ;  but  rather  annoyance  of  some 
very  practical  and  decided  kind.  Miss  For- 
rest saw  this  at  a  glance,  and  her  first  remark 
was  a  question. 


"  What  is  the  matter,  Marion  ?  You  look 
worried." 

"  I  am  worried,"  said  Marion,  briefly. 

"  About  your  father  ?  " 

"  No— about  Alston." 

"  Indeed  !     What  has  he  done  ? " 

"  He  is  foolish  and  inconsiderate  eiiougli 
to  urge  me  to  elope  with  him  " 

"  0 — h  !  "  Miss  Forrest  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  "  Well,  my  dear,  I  don't  know- 
that  you  have  any  right  to  be  worried  or  as- 
tonished at  that.  Of  course,  it  is  what  you 
might  have  expected." 

"  What  I  might  have  expected !  "  repeated 
Marion,  with  her  color  rising.  "  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean,  Nell.  I  think  that  I  might 
hare  expected  some  respect  from  Mr.  Rayford. 
I  consider  this  next  to  an  insult." 

"  And  I  consider  that  you  arc  very  un- 
reasonable. Mr.  Rayford  wants  to  put  some 
definite  end  to  this  very  indefinite  state  of 
affairs,  and  I  am  sure  I  cannot  blame  him. 
Pray  tell  me  what  you  seriously  expect  of 
him  ?  Your  father  absolutely  refuses  to  ac- 
cept him  as  a  legitimate  suitor,  and  you  are 
insulted  at  the  mere  mention  of  an  elopement. 
Where  is  the  middle  ground  between  these 
two  things  ? " 

"  Can  he  not  wait  ?  I  am  willing  to  do  so. 
And  patience  conquers  all  things." 

"  My  dear  child,  some  good  might  come  of 
waiting  if  Mr.  Rayford  was  a  paladin,  and  you 
were  an  angel.  But,  as  it  is,  nothing  but  un- 
pleasant complications  would  come — and  he 
has  sense  enough  to  see  it.  It  is  easy  for  you 
to  say  '  wait.'  You  are  a  woman,  and  the 
slightest  part  would  fall  on  you ;  but  he  is  a 
man,  and,  naturally,  be  does  not  fancy  the 
prospect  of  an  engagement  which  fetters  him 
without  giving  any  assured  good,  either  past, 
present,  or  to  come,  in  return." 

"What  is  the  drift  of  all  this,  Nell  ?  I 
confess  I  don't  understand.  Are  you,  too, 
urging  an  elopement  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  only  excusing  Mr.  Rayford  for 
having  done  so.  I  am  only  saying  that  it  is 
what  any  man  would  do." 

"  He  might  have  more  regard  for  me." 

"  My  dear,  men  are  selfish ;  and  he  has 
some  regard  for  himself." 

Marion  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  time — 
her  brows  bent,  and  her  lips  compressed. 
Evidently  she  was  forming  some  resolution  ; 
and,  when  once  formed,  Marion's  resolutions 
were   very   much   like   her   father's    in    the 


120 


THE   PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


item  of  steadfastness.  At  last  she  looked 
up. 

"  You  are  right,  Nell,"  she  said  ;  "  and  you 
need  not  talk  of  the  selfishness  of  men,  for  I 
am  sure  no  man  was  ever  more  selfish  than  I 
have  been.  I  forgot  entirely  that  all  the  bur- 
den of  a  prolonged  engagement  would  fall  on 
Alston ;  and  I  have  held  him  bound,  when  I 
ought  to  have  set  him  free  long  ago.  I  will 
make  amends  in  the  only  way  I  can,  and  that 
at  once." 

"  By  eloping  ? "  asked  Nell,  in  sudden 
alarm. 

"  No.  By  putting  a  final  end  to  our  en- 
gagement. Why  should  you  look  so  sur- 
prised ?  I  am  sure  you  have  shown  me  that 
it  is  the  only  right  thing  to  do." 

"  But,  Marion  !  You — you  are  in  love 
with  him  ! " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Marion,  coolly.  "  Not 
enough  to  break  my  heart  about  setting  him 
free.  But,  if  it  did  break  my  heart,  and  it 
was  right,  it  should  be  done," 

"  But  you  will  not  see  him  again  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  insisted  that  I  should  meet 
him  to-morrow  afternoon.  I  refused,  but  I 
am  very  sure  he  will  come  to  the  ferry.  When 
I  parted  from  him,  I  did  not  mean  to  go ;  but 
now  I  shall." 

"  He  will  think  yoa  are  coming  to  elope 
with  him." 

"  He  will  be  mistaken,  then." 

This  sentence  ended  the  conversation ;  for, 
just  here,  the  children  came  unexpectedly 
trooping  from  a  by-path,  and  were  all  so  full 
of  a  wonderful  nest  of  snakes  that  one  of  the 
servants  had  discovered,  and  into  which  he 
had  carried  wholesale  destruction  and  ravage, 
that  their  tongues  did  not  once  cease  running 
until  the  party  reached  home. 

The  next  day  Miss  Forrest  was  confined  to 
her  chamber  with  a  headache,  which  she  de- 
clared was  solely  the  result  of  the  unusual 
mental  exertion  to  which  she  had  been  driven 
on  the  preceding  afternoon. 

"  You  see,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  think 
while  I  was  out  on  the  hill-side  punching  at 
those  ferns,"  she  said ;  "  and,  not  being  used 
to  so  much  thinking  at  one  time,  it  has  made 
my  head  ache  as  if — really,  as  if  it  would 
split !  " 

Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  of  course 
clearly  impossible  that  Marion  could  ask  her 
to  submit  to  the  same  ordeal  again.  So,  re- 
luctantly enough,  she  resigned  herself  to  the 


necessity  of  meeting  Mr.  Rayford  at  the  Old 
Ferry  quite  alone.  When  the  afternoon  wore 
on,  and  the  sun  began  to  cast  long  shadows 
across  the  green  turf,  she  took  her  hat  and  a 
book,  and  set  forth  unchallenged  to  keep  her 
tryst. 

It  was  not  a  long  walk  to  the  appointed 
place,  and,  when  she  reached  there,  she  found 
Mr.  Rayford's  boat  made  fast  to  the  bank,  and 
Mr.  Rayford  himself  pacing  to  and  fro  in  all 
the  impatience  of  mingled  doubt  and  expecta- 
tion. When  he  caught  sight  of  Marion's  white 
dress,  he  rushed  forward  to  meet  her,  and 
poured  forth  his  thanks  so  warm  and  fast,  that 
at  last  .she  was  forced  to  check  them. 

"Please  don't  thank  me  any  more,"  she 
said,  "  at  least  not  until  you  hear  why  I  have 
come.  You  may  feel  obliged  to  me  when  you 
do  hear;  but  then,  again,  you  may  not." 

"  I  feel  obliged  to  any  thing  that  gives  me 
a  sight  of  your  face,  Marion,  even  if  you  mean 
to  refuse  again  the  prayer  I  have  come  to 
urge." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  discuss  that,"  she  said, 
hurriedlv.  "  I  gave  vou  mv  answer — the  onlv 
answer  I  have  to  give — yesterday  afternoon. 
No,  Alston.  I  have  come  to  do  something 
much  more  kind.    I  have  come  to  release  you." 

"  To  do  what,  Marion  ?  " 

"  To  give  you  your  freedom  from  bondage," 
said  she,  trying  to  smile  and  speak  lightly. 
"  I  ought  to  have  done  it  long  ago  ;  but  indeed 
it  never  struck  me,  until  after  I  parted  with 
you  yesterday,  how  selfishly  I  have  been  act- 
ing in  keeping  you  bound.  Papa  will  never 
consent,  I  am  sure ;  and  I — I  cannot  elope. 
Alston,  dear  Alston,  will  it  not  be  better  for  us 
to  part  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  her  eyes  fuU  of 
half-sad  appeal — when  is  any  thing  that  deals 
with  parting  not  sad  ? — and  she  met  in  return 
a  simply  incredulous  surprise. 

"  This  is  not  like  you,  Marion,"  he  said. 
"  Some  women  make  nothing  of  such  words  as 
these  ;  but  you  are  not  one  of  them — and  it  i? 
not  like  you.  There  is  not — there  never  can 
be — any  question  of  parting  between  us." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Marion,  who  was 
not- likely  to  be  borne  down  in  this  sort  of 
way.  "  There  is  a  question,  and  a  very  serious 
question  of  it.  Alston,  what  do  we  gain  by 
holding  on  as  we  have  been  doing  ?  " 

"  We  gain  the  prospect  of  happiness,  Ma- 
rion ;  and  we  might  gain  the  certainty,  if  you 
would  only  yield  to  me." 


THE  PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


131 


"  You  mean  if  I  would  elope  ?  " 

"  I  mean  if  you  would  marry  nic,  without 
M'aiting  for  a  consent  that  your  father  will 
never  give." 

"  And  would  you  be  willing  to  marry  a 
woman  who  could  do  such  a  thing,  Alston  ? 
I  should  think  you  would  distrust  her,  even 
where  you  were  concerned.  I  can  never  do 
that.     So  the  only  thing  left  us  is  to  part." 

"You  say  that  very  coolly,  Marion.  lias 
absence,  then,  worked  its  usual  effect  ?  has  it 
taken  your  heart  from  me  ?  " 

''  If  that  were  so,  Alston,  do  you  think  I 
would  be  standing  here  now  ?  No.  I  love 
you  as  much  as  I  ever  did  ;  but  I  have  grown 
a  little  older,  and  a  little  wiser,  since  I  prom- 
ised to  hold  fast  for  a  lifetime,  if  need  be  ;  and 
I  see  that  it  would  be  more  selfish  than  kind 
to  do  so.     If  you  only  knew — " 

"  I  know  this,"  he  interrupted,  passion- 
ately, "  that  while  you  talk,  I  feel  ;  and  that  I 
will  not  give  you  up  at  the  bidding  of  a  thou- 
sand fathers — nor  at  your  own,  either.  I  have 
never  yet  surrendered  any  thing  that  was  mine 
once  ;  and  you  are  mine  now,  Marion  ! " 

"  I  am  yours  only  as  long  as  I  do  not  claim 
my  freedom,"  said  Marion,  a  little  haughtily. 

"  You  are  mine  until  death  comes  between 
us,"  repeated  her  lover ;  and  over  his  hand- 
some face  there  came  the  "  Rayford  look  " — a 
look  well  known  wherever  the  desperate,  fear- 
less Rayford  blood  had  planted  itself;  and 
which  had  never  yet  boded  good  to  any  one 
who  crossed  their  path,  or  disputed  their  reck- 
less, determined  will.  "You  are  mine,  and, 
once  for  all,  I  will  not  give  you  up  ! " 

Marion  drew  back  proudly.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion whether  she  had  ever  really  loved  this 
man,  but  at  least  it  was  certain  that  she  had 
never  loved  him  well  enough  to  submit  to  such 
language  as  this  from  him. 

"  You  forget  yourself,"  she  said.  "  If  I 
choose  to  dissolve  our  engagement,  you  will 
have  no  alternative  but  to  give  me  up." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  choose  to  do  so  ?  " 
said  he,  in  a  quiet,  steady  tone — a  tone  which, 
if  she  had  known  much  of  the  Rayfords,  would 
have  warned  her  that  nothing  moderate  was 
coming. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it,"  asnwered  she,  coldly — 
and  then,  breaking  down  into  pathos,  "Alston, 
dear  Alston,  it  is  for  your  sake  more  than  mine. 
Believe  me,  it  is  best !  " 

He  smiled  slightly,  and  bent  his  head  down 
until  his  face  was  on  a  level  with  her  own. 


"  Tell  me  one  thing,  Marion,"  he  said.     "  Do 
you  love  me  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  I  do,"  she  answered, 
simply. 

"  Then  throw  these  miserable  scruples  to 
the  winds,  and  give  yourself  to  me.  See  ! 
All  that  you  will  need  to  do  is  to  step  into 
this  boat.  I  have  a  license  in  my  pocket ;  six 
miles  below  here  a  magistrate  lives.  Before 
the  sun  goes  down,  you  can  be  my  wife — so 
that  all  the  fathers  in  the  world  cannot  part 
us  again." 

"  You  might  spare  me  this,"  she  said,  halt'- 
indignantly,  half-reproachfully.  "  If  you  ar- 
gued forever,  Alston,  you  could  not  make  me 
do  such  a  thing." 

"  Then  I  must  try  something  besides  argu- 
ment," said  he,  coolly.  "  Forgive  me,  Marion  ; 
but  you  have  only  your  own  own  obstinacy  to 
blame ;  and  I  have  sworn  that  I  will  never 
give  you  up  !  " 

Something  in  his  voice,  something  in  his 
eyes,  made  a  sudden  fear  rush  over  Marion. 
She  remembered  the  loneliness  of  the  spot, 
and  the  desperation  ever  synonymous  with  the 
Rayford  name.  What  was  coming  she  hardly 
knew,  but  she  drew  back  with  an  instinct  of 
alarm. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  ''< 

"  I  mean  this,"  said  Rayford,  quietly, "  that 
if  you  will  not  go  with  me  I  shall  be  forced  to 
take  you ! " 

"  To  take  me  !     Are  you  mad  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  only  determined  not  to  be 
played  with  in  this  way.  It  depended  upon 
yourself  whether  or  not  you  would  promise 
to  marry  me.  You  did  promise,  and  now  it 
depends  upon  me  whether  or  not  you  fulfil  it." 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  ordinary  composure ; 
but,  by  a  single  step,  he  cut  off  all  chance  of 
escape  by  placing  himself  in  her  homeward 
path. 

One  glance  at  his  face  showed  her  how 
fully  he  meant  every  word  he  had  uttered ; 
how  worse  than  useless  any  thing  like  argu- 
ment or  entreaty  would  be  ;  and  all  the  love 
she  had  ever  felt  for  him  sunk  down  and  died 
in  that  instant.  She  forgot  the  peril  of  her 
position — she  only  remembered  the  burning 
sense  of  outrage  that  rushed  over  her. 

"You  are  a  coward!"  she  said,  bitterly. 
"  It  is  only  a  coward  who  would  endeavor  to 
intimidate  a  woman  by  threats,  or  force  her 
by  compulsion,  to  become  bis  wife.     And  you 


122 


THE   PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


need  not  think  that  you  will  force  me.  I  would 
throw  myself  into  the  river  there  before  I 
would  marry  you  after  this.  I  see  now  that 
my  father  was  right — right  to  withhold  his 
consent — right  to  say  that  I  should  never 
marry  you !  /  thought  you  were  a  gentle- 
man. He  knew  all  the  time  that  you  were  a 
rascal ! " 

Rayford  answered  not  a  word ;  perhaps 
because  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  do  so  ; 
but  bis  lips  set  themselves  like  steel,  and  into 
his  eyes  there  came  a  gleam  which  made  even 
Marion's  brave  heart  sink  within  her.  He 
bent  down — still  without  a  word — and  lifted 
her  in  his  arms.  She  struggled  violently  ;  but 
her  strength  was  like  a  child's  compared  to 
his,  and  he  bore  her  into  the  boat.  Then  he 
held  her  back  with  one  arm,  while  he  loosened 
the  little  craft  from  its  anchorage,  and  pushed 
out  into  the  stream.  When  several  yards  lay 
between  them  and  the  bank,  he  turned  and 
looked  at  her,  with  a  flash  of  triumph  on  his 
face. 

"You  may  resign  yourself,  Marion,"  he 
said.  "  You  will  not  go  back  there  until  you 
go  as  my  wife." 

"  We  will  see  about  that,"  she  answered, 
as  haughtily  and  as  steadily  as  if  she  had  not 
been  shaken  by  a  perfect  storm  of  emotion. 
Then  she  gathered  her  dress  about  her — made 
one  spring — and  was  in  the  river. 

YI. 

Instantly  Rayford  followed,  and  the  whirl- 
ing splash  of  eddying  water  rendered  him 
quite  unconscious  that  there  was  a  spectator 
of  the  drama — that  a  man,  who  was  seated  on 
a  bluif  overhanging  the  stream,  had  witnessed 
the  whole  scene,  and  that  he  now  manifested 
his  presence  by  springing  into  the  river  al- 
most as  soon  as  Marion  herself  had  touched 
its  surface. 

Owing  to  his  haste  and  agitation,  Rayford 
plunged  into  the  water  just  where  he  was 
standing,  which  chanced  to  be  at  the  end  of 
the  boat  opposite  that  from  which  Marion 
made  her  reckless  leap  ;  and,  as  the  boat  im- 
mediately swung  round  and  came  between 
them,  he  had  some  difficulty  in  reaching  her. 
Meanwhile  she  sunk,  and,  in  rising,  was  swept 
by  the  current  gently  down-stream,  straight 
into  the  arms  of  the  stranger,  who  was  mak- 
ing with  quick,  sure  strokes  toward  her.  She 
thought  that  he  was  Rayford  ;  but  there  is 
nothing  like  a  cold  bath  for  curing  heroics ; 


and,  with  this  terrible  rush  of  water  in  her 
ears,  this  frightful  sense  of  helpless  danger, 
she  was  glad  to  be  rescued — even  by  him. 

So  she  made  no  resistance  when  he  sup- 
ported her  with  one  arm,  while,  with  the  other, 
he  struck  out  rapidly  for  the  boat,  which,  in 
the  course  of  floating  lazily  down-stream,  was 
now  quite  near  them. 

Having  reached  it,  he  laid  her  in  the  bot- 
tom of  it,  and  then  climbed  in  himself.  After 
accomplishing  this,  he  left  her  unattended  for 
a  moment,  while  he  took  up  an  oar,  and,  with 
one  vigorous  stroke,  put  two  or  three  yards 
between  themselves  and  Rayford,  who  was 
swiming  toward  them.  The  latter,  seeing  this, 
raised  himself  in  the  water,  and  gave  an  anOTV 
shout. 

"  Stop  ! "  he  cried.  "  What  are  you  about  ? 
Don't  you  see  that  I  am  trying  to  reach  the 
boat  ?  " 

The  other  raised  his  hand,  and  pointed  to 
the  shore. 

"  You  had  better  try  to  reach  that,"  he 
said,  coolly.  "  You  are  not  coming  in  here. 
Keep  back  !  By  the  Heaven  above  us,  if  you 
even  so  much  as  lay  your  hand  on  the  boat,  I 
will  break  this  oar  over  your  head  ! " 

It  was  not  necessary  to  look  in  his  face  to 
see  that  he  meant  what  he  said  ;  and,  the  oar 
uplifted  by  that  stalwart  arm,  was  such  a  far 
from  pleasant  sight,  that  Alston  Rayford  had 
no  alternative  but  to  do  as  he  was  bidden,  and 
keep  back.  He  was  fairly  divided  between  as- 
tonishment and  indignation — as  his  next  words 
showed. 

"  You  insolent  rascal !  "  he  cried  ;  "  do 
you  know  that  you  are  in  mi/  boat ;  and  what 
the  devil  do  you  mean  by  such  conduct  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  if  I  allowed  you  to  enter 
here,  it  would  only  be  for  the  satisfaction  of 
pitching  you  out  again,  and  letting  you  feel 
that  no  man  iu  my  presence  insults  a  woman 
with  impunity,"  was  the  stem  reply.  "  Take 
yourself  to  the  shore  as  best  you  can,  and  re- 
member that  if  you  are  seen  or  heard  of  again 
about  here,  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you." 

"  I  will  be  seen  and  heard  of  long  enough 
to  make  you  answer  for  this,  you  infernal 
scoundrel !  "  Mr.  Rayford's  language  did  not 
improve  as  his  excitement  increased ;  and 
there  was  a  tinge  of  the  ludicrous  in  his  posi- 
tion which  added  tenfold  to  his  rage.  "  Who 
are  you,  and  what  right  have  you  to  interfere 
in  a  matter  which  does  not  concern  you  ?  " 

"  It  makes  no  difference  to  you  vrbo  I  am," 


THE  PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


123 


the  other  answered.  "As  for  my  right,  it  is 
that  of  any  honest  man  to  defend  a  woman 
against  a  villain.  Now  go ;  I  shall  waste  no 
more  words  on  you." 

He  rowed  away  as  he  spoke  ;  and  Rayford, 
seeing  that  he  was  indeed  hopelessly  left  be- 
hind, sent  one  last  shot  after  him  : 

"  You  shall  answer  for  this ;  remember 
that ! " 

The  other  raised  his  hand  in  ironical  salute. 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  answer — with  a 
horsewliip,"  he  replied. 

Having  made  this  rejoinder,  he  turned  and 
glanced  at  Marion.  To  his  surprise  and  relief 
she  was  fitting  up,  and,  although  she  might 
have  passed  for  a  mermaid  in  the  item  of 
drenching,  she  did  not  look  at  all  the  worse 
for  it  in  the  way  of  physical  well-being.  She 
was  not  even  pale,  as  people  are  apt  to  be  af- 
ter a  drowning  escapade,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
a  tide  of  color  swept  over  her  fiice  the  moment 
those  bright-blue  eyes  fell  on  it.  Before  she 
could  speak,  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  You  have  done  me  an  inestimable  ser. 
vice,  Mr.  Lorimer,"  she  said.  "  The  only  re- 
turn I  can  make  is — to  beg  your  pardon." 

"  I  am  very  glad — more  than  glad — that  I 
was  near,"  said  Lorimer,  earnestly.  "  As  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  me  an  eavesdropper,  I 
will  explain  in  a  moment  how  it  chanced. 
But,  first,  you  must  take  a  restorative."  He 
drew  a  small  flask  from  his  pocket,  and  gave 
it  to  her.  "  I  don't  suppose  that  you  like 
French  brandy,"  he  went  on,  "  but  there  is 
no  help  for  it ;  you  must  drink  this,  or  take  a 
cold." 

"  Of  course,  then,  I  will  drink  this,"  said 
Marion,  with  unusual  meekness.  And  she 
drank  it  accordingly  —  in  homeopathic 
amount. 

Tance  laughed,  and  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders when  the  flask  was  returned,  apparently 
containing  the  same  quantity  as  when  he  had 
given  it  to  her.  But  he  did  not  urge  the  mat- 
ter any  further ;  he  only  swept  the  boat 
round  and  began  rowing  vigorously  against 
the  stream.  After  a  little,  he  asked  Marion 
if  .she  knew  how  to  use  an  oar.  She  answered 
in  the  afiirmative,  and  he  pointed  to  one  that 
lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  Then  you  had  better  take  that,"  he  said. 
"  Vi'e  ought  to  reach  Mr.  Rivers's  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"What!"  (She  could  not  help  a  slight 
start.)    "  Are  Ave  going  there  ?  " 


"  Of  course.  "Where  else  should  we  go  ? 
It  cannot  be  far  off  either.  Do  you  know  how 
far  ?  " 

"  About  a  mile,  I  suppose — by  the  stream, 
that  is ;  not  half  so  far  by  land." 

"We  will  reach  there  soon,  then;  and,  if 
you  can  row,  the  exercise  will  keep  you  from 
taking  cold." 

"  1  can  try,"  she  said.  And  she  did  try. 
She  was  not  very  skilful,  however;  and  it  is 
doubtful  whether  her  unaided  exertions  would 
have  brought  them  very  speedily  to  their 
bourn ;  but  Lorimer  was  a  first-class  oarsman, 
and  his  swift,  steady  strokes  sent  the  little 
boat  fairly  dancing  over  the  water.  They  swept 
by  the  Old  Ferry  in  gallant  style,  and  both  of 
them  looked  instinctively  to  see  if  Rayford 
was  there.  But  he  had  vanished.  In  his  stead, 
a  slight,  graceful  figure  was  seated  on  a  fallen 
tree,  sketching,  and  whistling  pensively ;  and 
Lorimer  laughed  as  Marion  exclaimed,  "  Mr. 
Travers ! " 

"  Shall  we  take  him  in  ? "  asked  Vance. 
And  then  he  answered  himself,  with  prompti- 
tude: "No.  I  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to 
you,  and  he  can  easily  walk. — Frank,  old  fel- 
low, meet  us  at  Philippi,"  he  shouted ;  and 
Travers  started,  looked  up,  and  immediately 
became  so  transfixed  with  astonishment  that 
they  shot  by  and  out  of  sight  before  he  was 
able  to  say  a  word. 

"Now,"  said  Vance,  "I  have  my  explana- 
tion to  make,  and  it  must  be  done  quickly. 
First,  however.  Miss  Rivers,  I  must  ask  a  ques- 
tion, and  beg  a  candid  answer.  Will  you  tell 
me  if  you  are  still  incredulous  of  my  dream  ?  " 

Marion  started,  and  blushed  scarlet.  But, 
nevertheless,  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  answered 
at  once: 

"  I  thought  you  understood  what  I  meant 
when  I  begged  your  pardon,  Mr.  Lorimer.  It 
was  for  my  incredulity,  as  well  as  for  my  rude- 
ness, that  I  did  so.  Did  you  witness  the  whole 
of  the  scene  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  whole  of  it." 

"  Then  you  can,  perhaps,  believe  that  I 
thought  of  you  and  your  picture  at  the  very 
moment  when  that — that  man  laid  hold  of  me. 
At  the  very  moment  when  your  scene  was 
realized,  the  scene  itself  rose  up  as  unexpect- 
edly and  vividly  as  if  it  had  been  held  before 
my  eyes.  I  saw  it  as  clearly  as  I  see  you  this 
moment ;  and  I  felt — ah  !  you  cannot  even 
imagine  what  I  felt." 

"I  know  what   I  felt  myself,"  he  said, 


124 


THE   PAINTER'S  DREAM. 


quickly.  "  I  ought  to  explain  at  once  that  I 
was  sitting  just  above  j'ou  on  that  bluiT  which 
is  covered  with  such  luxuriant  foliage.  Frank 
and  I  have  been  over  into  Tennessee  since  we 
left  your  uncle's  house  three  weeks  ago,  and 
wc  meant  to  go  round  through  South  Carolina 
on  our  way  home.  But — well,  we  could  not 
do  it.  I  don't  know  what  made  him  anxious 
to  return  this  way ;  but  I  am  perfectly  sure 
that  it  was  the  fascination  of  the  picture — the 
same  fascination  which  has  made  me  dream 
of  it  every  night  since  we  left  here — that 
brought  me  back,  whether  I  would  or  no.  "VVe 
did  not  mean  to  call  at  your  uncle's ;  but  still 
we  found  ourselves  to-day  wandering  almost 
within  sight  of  the  house.  Suddenly,  in  the 
course  of  our  rambles,  we  came  upon  this 
rook  on  the  river.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a 
shock  it  gave  me,  for  I  recognized  at  once  the 
scene  of  my  dream  !  " 

"  That  is  why  it  has  seemed  so  strangely 
familiar  to  me,"  said  Marion.  "It  was  like 
something  I  had  seen,  and  yet,  until  this  after- 
noon, I  could  not  tell  what  it  was.  0  Mr. 
Lorimer,  how  unaccountable  —  how  terrible 
it  is  !  " 

"I  climbed  up  to  that  bluff,"  Lorimer 
went  on ;  "  and  after  a  while  Frank  wandered 
away  and  left  me.  I  had  been  there  some 
time,  and,  in  the  drowsy  afternoon  heat,  I  went 
to  sleep.  I  was  waked  by  your  voice,  and 
the  first  words  told  me  what  kind  of  a  discus- 
sion was  going  on.  I  looked  down,  and  I  saw 
the  boat  and  the  man!  After  that,  I  don't 
think  I  could  have  stirred  or  made  a  sound 
if  my  life  had  depended  on  it.  I  hope  you 
will  forgive  me  for  listening  to  much  that  no 
third  person  should  have  heard ;  and  I  hope 
you  will  also  beheve  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
there  was  some  strong  influence  at  work  to 
make  me  do  so.  I  could  not  shake  off  a  power 
that  seemed  to  hold  me  nerveless.  The  very 
scene,  the  very  figures  of  my  dream,  were 
before  me.  I  felt  sure  of  what  was  coming, 
and,  as  you  know,  it  did  come." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  under  her  breath. 

"  If  you  had  waited  only  one  second,  you 
would  have  been  spared  a  cold  bath,  for  I 
was  all  ready  to  swim  after  the  boat,  and  I 
would  have  gained  it.  Even  as  it  was,  I  think 
our  plunges  were  simultaneous ;  and  I  still 
feel  as  if  I  had  been  defrauded  of  a  just  en- 
joyment, since  I  did  not  take  that  scoundrel 
by  the  neck  and  pitch  him  headlong  into  the 
water." 


"  I  think  you  punished  him  enough,"  said 
she,  coloring  deeply  and  painfully.  "  To  such 
a  man  there  is  no  punishment  like  failure. 
And,  if  you  add  ridicule,  I  am  sure  you  make 
something  which  will  prove  almost  too  bitter 
for  his  endurance." 

"  At  least,  he  will  not  be  apt  to  trouble 
you  again." 

"No;  for  he  only  troubled  me  through  my 
own  headstrong  folly  ;  and  he  will  never  have 
that  aid  again.  But  when  I  think  of  all  I 
owe  to  you,  Mr.  Lorimer,  and  of  all  that  I  said 
to  you — " 

"Nay,"  said  Lorimer,  interrupting  her 
with  a  smile,  "we  will  not  think  of  that  at  all. 
My  story  was  certainly  strange  enough  to  ex- 
cuse hicredulity.  I  myself  can  offer  no  ex- 
planation of  it,  unless  " — here  his  voice  sunk 
— "  I  was  chosen  in  this  way  that  I  might 
have  the  happiness  of  sei'ving  you." 

"Then  I  never  can  be  grateful  enough 
that  you  were  chosen,"  said  she,  looking  up, 
with  a  warm  light  in  her  eyes.  "  I  am  sure — 
But  here  we  are  at  the  lawn,  and  yonder  is 
Uncle  George  !  What  can  we  possibly  say  to 
him  ? " 

"  I  shall  say  that  you  were  imprudent 
enough  to  fall  into  the  river,  and  that  I  was 
fortunate  enough  to  pass  by  and  pick  you 
up,"  said  Lorimer,  laughing.  "  Trust  to  me, 
and  keep  your  countenance. — My  dear  sir,  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you  again. — Xow,  Miss 
Rivers,  you  had  better  go  to  the  house  and 
change  your  dress." 

"  Good  Heavens,  Marion  !  what  have  you 
been  doing?"  cried  her  uncle,  with  astonish- 
ment.— "Mr.  Lorimer,  I  am  truly  delighted  to 
see  you  again  ;  but  why,  bless  my  soul !  you 
are  wet,  too  ! " 

"  Mr.  Lorimer  will  tell  you  the  whole  story, 
uncle.  It  is  too  long  for  me,"  said  Marion, 
laughing.  Then  she  waved  her  hand,  and 
darted  away  to  the  house. 

It  was  a  long  story,  certainly ;  but,  never- 
theless, it  was  aU  poured  into  Miss  Forrest's 
eager  ears  before  the  supper-bell  rang,  and 
great  was  the  wonderment  which  it  caused 
that  young  lady.  She  worked  herself  into 
such  a  passion  of  indignation  against  the  de- 
feated Rayford,  and  such  a  fever  of  excite- 
ment about  the  victorious  Lorimer,  that  she 
quite  cured  her  headache ;  and,  when  several 
noisy  shouts  from  the  children  informed  her 
that  Travers  had  arrived,  she  even  got  up  and 
began  to  make  a  toilet.     "  It  would  be  too 


THE  PAINTER'S   DREAM. 


125 


discourteous  not  to  see  them,"  she  said.  "  Be- 
sides, I  am  dying  to  talk  it  over  -with  Mr. 
Lorimer,  and  this  is  my  only  chance,  for  no 
doubt  they  will  leave  to-morrow." 

She  was  mistaken,  however.  The  two 
young  artists  did  not  leave  on  the  morrow. 
From  some  cause,  the  hospitable  freedom  of 
Mr.  Rivers's  household  threw  quite  a  spell 
over  them,  and  they  lingered,  and  still  lin- 
gered, for  pleasant  walks,  and  rides,  and  talks, 
until  the  gold  of  September  burned  on  the 
chestnuts,  and  her  royal  color  glowed  in  the 
scarlet  of  the  maples — until  the  mellow  haze 
of  autumn  ■  rounded  and  softened  the  grand 
mountain  outlines,  and  the  chill  mountain 
nights  made  them  draw  closely  around  spar- 
kling fires;  lingered,  in  fact,  until  Mr,  Rivers, 
hearing  that  Alston  Rayford  had  sailed  for 
Europe,  came  for  his  daughter,  and,  to  his 
utter  consternation,  had  another  suitor  thrown, 
like  a  petard,  at  his  head. 

It  was  all  the  worse,  since  there  was  no 
reasonable  ground  for  refusal  in  this  instance. 
There  was  no  better  blood  between  the  Poto- 
mac and  the  Rio  Grande  than  that  which 
flowed  in  Yance  Lorimer's  veins ;  and,  although 
a  practical  man  like  Mr.  Rivers  looked  rather 
askance  at  "  a  painter,"  still  he  was  also  a 
sensible  man,  and  he  saw  stuff  m  the  young 


artist  which  promised  well  for  future  effort 
and  future  distinction.  So,  with  some  reluc- 
tance, he  gave  his  consent,  declaring,  as  he  did 
so,  that  if  a  woman  were  shut  up  in  an  under- 
ground dungeon,  or  condemned  to  roost  in 
the  top  of  a  pine-tree,  she  would  find  ways 
and  means  to  compass  a  love-affair. 

It  had  long  been  an  agreement  between 
Marion  and  Nellie  that  whichever  was  married 
first  should  claim  the  services  of  the  other  as 
bridesmaid.  But  circumstances  occurred  to 
prevent  the  fulfilment  of  this  engagement, 
and,  instead  of  wearing  the  orange-wreath  by 
turns,  they  wore  it  on  the  same  day.  In  other 
words,  there  was  a  double  wedding ;  and 
people  say  yet  that  there  never  were  two 
prettier  brides  than  Mrs.  Lorimer  and  Mrs. 
Travers. 

Yance  did  not  fulfil  his  threat  of  cutting 
up  the  Dream  Picture.  It  hangs  in  his  private 
room,  where  strangers  never  see  it ;  but  some- 
times it  is  shown  to  an  intimate  friend,  and 
the  story  of  it  is  told.  At  such  times  Yance 
always  concludes  by  assuring  them  of  the  ex- 
act truth  of  every  particular,  and  declaring 
(in  which  we  can  most  of  us  agree  with  him) 
that  "  there  are  more  things  in  heaven  and 
earth  than  are  dreamed  of  in  our  philoso- 
phy." 


9 


THE      END. 


POWELL  VAPvDPvAY'S  LIFE. 


THERE  are  few  people  who  have  attained 
any  moderate  length  of  years,  and  pos- 
sess in  any  moderate  degree  the  higher  sensi- 
biUties  and  deeper  passions,  which  are  by  no 
means  the  common  heritage  of  the  common 
race,  who  do  not  feel  and  will  not  acknowledge 
that  existence  is  far  from  being  synonymous 
with  life.  The  former  state  begins  at  birth 
and  ends  at  death,  extending  over  many  a 
level  of  stagnant  days,  including  all  the  slug- 
gish periods  of  inaction,  and  all  the  weary  in- 
tervals of  dead  calm,  as  well  as  the  stirring 
breezes  and  the  blindmg  storms  that  come  to 
the  mental  as  to  the  physical  world.  The  lat- 
ter is  thronged  with  action,  filled  to  the  brim 
with  keen  emotions,  and  whetted  with  eager 
strife,  burnmg  with  passion,  abounding  in  vi- 
tality, and  freighted  with  issues  that  in  result, 
at  least,  extend  beyond  the  earth  we  tread. 
Sometimes  these  two  states  of  being  go  hand 
in  hand  through  man's  pilgrimage.  But  ihis 
is  rare.  Few  people  live  always;  the  vast 
majority  live  but  seldom  ;  and  there  are  many 
who,  from  birth  to  death,  never  live  at  all. 
The  woman  whose  name  stands  at  the  head 
of  this  story,  belonged  to  the  second  class. 
Once,  for  a  brief  space,  her  pulse  changed 
from  the  dull,  even  beat  of  existence,  to  the 
full,  quick  throb  of  life  ;  once  only— 

"  All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  deliphts, 
WTiatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame," 

waked  within  her,  and,  sweepmg  into  one 
great  current,  roused  her  soul  to  the  very  cen- 
tre, stirring  it,  filling  it,  teaching  it  the  lesson 
which  is  old  as  time,  yet  which  every  new-born 
child  of  Time  must  learn  for  itself— the  lesson 
that  delight  is  twin-born  with  pain,  and  that 
to  live  is  to  suffer. 


At  last  the  weary  term  was  over,  and  the 
welcome  two-months'  vacation  came — came  to 
the  long  class-rooms,  outside  the  windows  of 
which  heavy  tropical  foliage  drooped,  and  into 
which  fragrant  tropical  breezes  swept,  even  as 
it  came  to  other  class-rooms  under  paler  skies, 
where  lighter  foliage    drooped,   and   fresher 
breezes  played,  far  away  in  the  fair  temperate 
zone.     Some   smiling,  some   sighing,   yet   all 
glad  to  go,  the  pupils  took  their  departure. 
Most  of  the  teachers  followed  their  example  as 
speedily  as  possible,  and,  after  a  day  or  two 
of  bustle  and  confusion,  the  great  pensionnat, 
which  was  usually  such  a  busy  hive  of  life, 
sank  into  strange  silence,  and  the  half-dozen 
teachers  and  pupils  remaining,  moved  about 
the  wide  dormitories,  the  long  galleries,  and 
vacant  "classes  "  like  unreal  shadows  of  what 
had  been.    In  all  the  British  West  Indies  there 
was  no  school  so  popular  as  this  which  had 
been   established   in   Kingston,  by  an   enter- 
prising Frenchwoman,  and   the   pupils   thus 
stranded  on  its  shore,  were  from  the  neighbor- 
ing islands,  and  either  meant  to  spend  the  va- 
cation in  the  school,  or  else  were  awaiting  the 
first  opportunity  to  go  home.     The  teachers 
were  all  foreign.     There   was  a  middle-aged 
German  with  a  painfully-long  neck,  and  pain- 
fully short-sighted   eyes,  who   taught   music, 
wore  spectacles,  ate   sour-kraut,   and  played 
like   Liszt.     There   was  a  vivacious  French- 
woman, a  cousin  of  the  principal,  with  the  sal- 
lowest  skin  and  blackest  eyes  in  all  Jamaica, 
with  a  love  of  toilets  next  to  insanity,  and  a 
talent  for  arranging  them  next  to  miraculous. 
And,  finally,  there  was  a  young  American  from 
the  State  of  Georgia,  a  stately,  handsome  girl 
who  had  been  in  the  school  only  one  se.-^sion, 
who  talked  very  little  about  herself,  but  who 
bore  the  stamp  of  gentle  blood  and  gentle 


128 


POWELL   VARDRAY'S   LIFE. 


rearing,  and  whose  name  was  Powell  Var- 
dray. 

It  was  near  sunset  ou  the  third  day  after 
the  school  had  formally  closed,  that  the  latter 
was  alone  in  one  of  the  large  dormitories 
through  which  at  this  hour  the  first  welcome 
breath  of  the  land-breeze  began  to  sweep. 
She  had  spent  the  long,  sultry  afternoon  there 
— the  afternoon  which  in  the  tropics  has  more 
than  the  stillness  of  our  midnight — and  now 
that  various  sounds  proved  that  the  universal 
trance  of  siesta  was  at  last  broken,  she  left 
unfinished  a  letter  which  she  had  been  writing, 
and  went  to  one  of  the  windows.  As  she 
leaned  out,  the  day -god  sank  into  the  distant 
ocean,  and  almost  immediately  the  city  below 
her  waked  into  life.  Windows  that  bad  been 
barred  against  the  fierce  rays  of  a  vertical  sun, 
opened  wide  at  the  first  stirring  of  the  breeze 
among  the  plumy  leaves  without ;  streets  that 
had  been  deserted  by  all  save  a  few  lounging 
negroes  and  busy  laborers  began  to  be  filled 
with  carriages  and  pedestrians ;  sounds  of 
passing  feet,  hum  of  voices,  laughter  and 
strains  of  distant  song,  floated  up  to  the  young 
foreigner;  and,  from  the  shade  that  came  over 
her  face,  it  seemed  as  if  these  things  had  more 
power  to  sadden  than  to  cheer.  Even  the 
pensionnat  at  last  roused  in  some  degree.  She 
heard  the  chatter  of  voices  as  the  French 
teacher  and  two  or  three  girls  assembled  on 
the  flat  roof  over  her  head  ;  and  from  below 
there  came  the  notes  of  a  piano  which  resolved 
into  the  strange,  wild  beauty  of  "  Walpurgis 
Nicht "  as  the  German  teacher  found  that  she 
had  the  grand  salon  all  to  herself.  The  royal 
harmonies  were  rising  fuller  and  fuller  on  the 
dying  day,  when  suddenly  there  came  a  clatter 
of  horses'  hoofs  down  the  quiet  street,  a  flush 
that  even  the  twilight  could  not  hide  on  Powell 
Yardray's  face,  and  a  gallant-looking  rider 
who  swept  by  at  a  sharp  canter.  In  passing 
the  school,  he  reined  in  his  horse  a  little,  and 
looked  eagerly  upward.  The  eyes  above  were 
looking  down — frank,  tender  eyes  that  had  no 
"  cunning  to  be  strange  "  in  their  soft  depths — 
and  the  two  glances  crossed  like  swords.  It 
was  only  momentary.  The  cavalier  smiled, 
uncovered  his  head,  bent  low,  and  then  was 
gone.  The  girl  drew  back  with  the  flush  al- 
ready faded  from  her  cheek  ;  and  when,  a  mo- 
ment later,  her  name  was  called  by  a  servant 
near  by,  she  turned  and  spoke  in  the  quiet, 
harmonious  voice  known  so  well  in  the  school. 

"  Here  I  am.  Rose.     What  is  it  ?  " 


"A  note  for  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  servant, 
presenting,  as  she  spoke,  a  dainty  white  mis- 
sive as  if  it  had  been  a  bayonet.  "  The  mes- 
senger is  waiting,  ma'am,"  she  added,  after  a 
minute,  as  the  young  teacher  sat  with  the  en- 
velope unopened  in  her  hand,  her  brow  slightly 
bent,  and  a  faint  reflection  of  the  flush  that 
was  gone  rising  in  her  cheek. 

"  Yes — I  know,"  she  said,  with  a  start. 
Then  she  broke  the  seal,  drew  forth  the  en- 
closure, leaned  forward,  and,  by  the  last  light 
of  day,  read  these  lines  : 

"Dear  Miss  Yardrat:  We  leave  Kings- 
ton to-morrow  for  our  residence  in  the  hill- 
country.  Knowing  how  unpleasant  the  city  is 
at  this  time  of  year,  and  how  lonely  you  must 
be  in  the  school,  we  shall  be  delighted  if  you 
will  accompany  us  and  spend  your  vacation 
there.  Alicia,  in  particular,  is  very  anxious 
that  you  should  do  so ;  and  I  hope  sincerely 
that  you  will  not  disappoint  her  by  a  refusal. 
If  you  say  yes,  I  will  call  for  you  at  nine 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 

"  Yours  truly,  E.  M.  Murray." 

Miss  Yardray  read  this  brief  epistle  twice 
over  ;  then  she  knitted  her  brows  again,  and 
gave  a  moment  to  reflection ;  then  she  smiled 
shghtly,  and  finally  she  looked  up  and  spoke. 

"  You  may  go.  Rose,  and  I  will  bring  the 
answer  down  myself.  Be  sure  and  make  the 
messenger  wait  for  it,  though.  Where  is 
madame  ?  " 

"  In  her  own  room,  ma'am.  She  is  going 
out,  I  think,  for  she  was  dressing  when  I  came 
up." 

"  Going  out !  Then  I  must  see  her  at 
once." 

With  the  note  in  her  hand,  she  left  the 
dormitory,  ran  down  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the 
second  floor,  followed  a  corridor,  and  came  to 
that  part  of  the  building  where  the  private 
apartments  of  Madame  Girod,  the  principal, 
were  situated.  Here  she  knocked,  and  was  at 
once  admitted  to  the  chamber  where  this  au- 
gust personage —  a  handsome  and  decidedly 
sallow  specimen  of  the  Parisienne — was  en- 
gaged in  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet.  She  gave 
a  cordial  greeting  to  the  young  girl,  and,  when 
the  nature  of  her  errand  was  explained,  she 
smiled  benign  consent. 

"  There  are  no  better  people  in  Jamaica 
than  the  Murrays,"  said  she,  approvingly. 
"  They  are  at  the  head  of  fashion,  and  live  in 


POWELL  VARDRAY'S   LIFE. 


129 


most  elegant  style.  Of  course,  chere  amie,  you 
must  go.  We  shall  miss  you  immeasurably, 
and  I  am  sure  I  sliall  die  of  that  stupid  Ma- 
dame Schafter,  and  that  chatterbox  of  a  Vic- 
torine,  but  still  I  dare  not  be  so  selfish  as  to 
keep  you.  Be  sure  and  present  my  affection- 
ate remembrances  to  Alicia — she  was  always 
my  favorite  pupil,  you  know.  Bon  soir,  ma 
belle.     Go  and  enjoy  yourself." 

Dismissed  in  this  hasty  and  benedictory 
fashion.  Miss  Yardray  went  to  her  room,  and 
wrote  an  affirmative  reply  to  Mrs.  Murray's  in- 
vitation. After  this  reply  was  sent,  and  while 
a  loud  bell  was  summoning  her  to  the  light 
evening  meal,  she  stopped  and  asked  herself 
if  she  had  done  wisely.  These  Murrays 
chanced  to  be  friends  of  her  family,  and  when 
she  came  to  Jamaica  to  enter  as  teacher  the 
school  where  Alicia  Murray  was  a  pupil,  they 
had  had  the  grace  to  pay  her  some  faint  show 
of  social  attention.  She  had  been  invited  to 
several  of  their  entertainments,  and  at  one  of 
these  had  the  good  or  bad  fortune  to  meet  a 
certain  Captain  Romeyne,  of  the  governor's 
staff,  who,  being  much  attracted  by  her  beau- 
ty, had  devoted  himself  to  her  with  more 
cmjyfessement  than  was  at  all  expedient.  After 
that  she  had  never  received  another  invitation 
to  the  Murray  house.  Alicia,  however,  who 
was  a  frank  school-girl  not  yet  broken  into 
the  traces  of  social  life,  and  very  fond  of  her 
teacher,  carelessly  betrayed  the  secret  of  this 
sudden  reserve.  Despite  their  wealth  and 
fashion,  the  Murrays,  it  seemed,  had  not  been 
very  fortunate  in  matrimonial  disposal  of  their 
daughters — partly  owing  to  the  fact  that  in 
the  West  Indies,  as  in  a  good  many  other 
places,  eligible  suitors  are  scarce,  and  young 
ladies  are  plenty.  The  eldest  daughter  had 
married  a  planter  of  Trinidad,  who,  in  five 
years,  gambled  away  his  fortune,  drank  him- 
self to  death,  and  returned  his  wife  on  her 
father's  hands  a  penniless  widow.  The  second 
daughter  was,  in  a  moderate  way,  a  beauty, 
and  flew  therefore  at  higher  game  than  any 
the  islands  in  themselves  could  furnish.  Learn- 
ing that  Captain  Romeyne  might,  by  the  death 
of  a  sickly  elder  brother,  become  the  heir  of  one 
of  the  largest  fortunes  and  oldest  titles  among 
the  baronetcies  of  Great  Britain,  the  Murray 
family  in  general,  and  Miss  EUinor  Murray  in 
particular,  had  made  him  the  object  of  much 
attention  and  the  centre  of  many  hopes.  There 
had  been  no  vulgar  matrimonial  scheming — 
they  were  both  too  wise  and  too  well-bred  for 


that — but  there  had  been  a  good  deal  of  finesse 
and  really  creditable  intrigue  which  proved 
its  ability  by  its  success.  Step  by  step  the 
young  man  was  led  on  until  there  is  little 
doubt  but  that  the  object  in  view  might  readily 
have  been  compassed,  if  the  fair  face  and  dark 
eyes  of  Powell  Vardray  had  not  crossed  his 
path,  and  dashed  at  once  into  insignificance 
the  commonplace  beauty  he  had  admired  be- 
fore. And  as  Powell  Yardray  stood  before 
her  mirror  now,  looking  at  this  face,  and  gaz- 
ing into  the  depths  of  those  eyes,  she  asked 
herself  what  this  invitation  meant.  Uad  they 
given  up  the  pursuit  as  hopeless,  and  were 
they  willing  that  she  should  taste  one  short 
draught  of  happiness  ?  Young  as  she  was, 
the  girl  was  worldly  wise  enough  to  return  a 
negative  to  this  question.  Did  it  mean  some 
plan  to  draw  her  out  of  his  way,  or  to  place 
her  before  him  in  some  unfavorable  light  ? 
Again  she  bent  her  brows,  and  again  the  ques- 
tion was  too  deep  for  her.  At  last  she  shook 
her  head.  "  I  cannot  tell,"  she  said  aloud ; 
"  but  whatever  it  be,  I  am  ready  to  face  it.  I 
am  no  child,  to  fall  into  an  open  trap.  I  think 
my  wit  is  as  quick  as  theirs ;  and  if  strife 
must  come,  it  shall  be  strife  d  Voutrance.  Let 
them  mean  what  they  will,  this  is  my  only 
road  to  happiness,  and  I  shall  take  it.  They 
cannot  harm  him,  and  for  me — I  am  not  rich 
enough  in  any  gift  of  earth  to  fear  for  myself. 
The  destitute  can  afford  to  be  brave.  I  will 
go." 

Years  afterward  Powell  Yardray  thought 
of  these  reckless  words,  and  looked  back  on 
this  resolve  as  the  turning-point  of  her  life. 
Whether  she  ever  regretted  it,  was  known 
only  to  herself  and  God ;  but  it  is  hardly 
probable  that  she  ever  did — it  is  more  than 
probable  that  she  held  the  purchase  of  one 
brief  taste  of  life  none  too  dearly  made  even 
at  the  price  she  was  forced  to  pay  for  it. 

Punctually  at  nine  o'clock  the  next  morn- 
ing, a  carriage,  well  known  in  Kingston,  drove 
up  to  Madame  Girod's  door,  a  brown-eyed  girl 
sprang  out,  rushed  past  the  portress  sans  cere- 
monie,  fled  up-stairs  with  the  careless  ease  of 
one  who  treads  familiar  ground,  and  burst  into 
Miss  Yardray's  room  like  an  electric  flash. 

"  Alicia ! — how  you  startled  me  ! "  said  the 
teacher,  with  a  laugh ;  and  more  than  that 
she  could  not  say,  for  Alicia's  arms  were 
around  her,  precluding  speech,  and  almost 
threatening  suffocation. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going  with  us  1" 


130 


POWELL   VARDRAT'S   LIFE. 


cried  the  girl,  eagerly,  "  and  it  was  so  good 
of  mamma  to  ask  you  !  I  did  not  think  she 
•would — on  account  of  Ellinor,  you  know — but 
she  did,  and  all  of  her  own  accord.  That  13, 
/said  nothing  to  her ;  but  I  believe  Maud  told 
her  she  ought  to  do  it.  I  did  not  think  Maud 
•was  such  a  friend  of  yours — did  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  it,"  said  Miss  Vardray, 
smiling.  "  Don't  choke  me,  Alicia  ;  and  pray 
let  me  tie  ray  bonnet-strings.  Is  not  your 
mother  in  the  carriage  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  but  it  don't  matter  about 
keeping  mamma  waiting ;  she  is  so  good-na- 
tured. She  only  gets  vexed  when  I  say  things 
about  Ellinor's  admirers — to  tease  Ellinor,  you 
know.  By-the-by,  Miss  Yardray,  Captain  Ro- 
meyne  has  gone — did  you  know  it  ?  " 

Gone !  What  a  dark  mist  it  was  that  came 
without  any  warning  over  Powell's  sight,  and 
•what  a  strange,  sudden  choking  rose  in  her 
throat !  She  gasped  for  breath  a  moment,  but 
so  slightly  that  the  careless  girl  beside  her 
heard  nothing,  saw  nothing — not  even  the 
swift  pallor  that  passed  over  her  face.  Then 
she  spoke  quite  as  usual : 

"  No,  I  did  not  know  it — how  should  I  ? 
But,  if  so,  he  must  have  gone  very  lately,  Ali- 
cia, for  I  saw  him  pass  here  yesterday  after- 
noon." 

"  That  is  very  probable,"  said  Alicia,  coolly, 
"  for  he  only  left  this  morning.  He  dined  at 
our  house  yesterday  evening,  and  bade  us  all 
good-by.  There  was  some  friend  of  his  here 
in  a  yacht,  and  he  is  going  to  spend  the  next 
three  or  four  months  in  cruising  about  with 
him  among  the  islands.  They  left  this  morn- 
ing. Ellinor  was  on  the  top  of  the  house  with 
an  opera-glass,  and  she  saw  Captain  Romeyne 
go  on  board  the  yacht,  and  saw  the  yacht  put 
out  to  sea.  So  he  is-  off,  and  that  is  an  end  of 
the  matter.  I  am  sorry  for  Ellinor,  but  I 
really  believe  I  am  still  more  sorry  for  Maud." 

Silenced  at  this,  Miss  Vardray  went  on 
tying  her  bonnet-strings,  and  asked  no  ques- 
tions. She  never  encouraged  Alicia's  family 
revelations,  but,  on  the  contrary,  was  often 
forced  to  repress  them.  In  this  instance,  how- 
ever, she  said  nothing,  and  the  unreserved 
young  lady  soon  continued  : 

"  You  see,  Ellinor  was  willing  enough  to 
become  Mrs.  Romeyne,  but  I  don't  think  her 
heart  was  terribly  set  on  it.  Now  Maud's 
was.  Maud  thought  that,  if  Ellinor  were  once 
■well  married  in  England,  she  could  go  there 
and  secure  a  grand  fortune  for  herself.     She 


has  had  enough  of  West-Indians,  she  says — 
and,  indeed,  I  don't  •wonder.  She  is  dread- 
fully aggravating,  though.  I  wonder  some- 
times if  she  didn't  aggravate  poor  Dering  into 
drinking  and  gambling  himself  to  death." 

"I  believe  I  am  ready  now,"  said  Miss 
Vardray,  in  reply  to  this  observation.  "  If 
you  will  come,  Alicia,  we  will  bid  the  teachers 
and  the  girls  good-by."  Then,  under  her 
breath,  "  Ohj  if  I  could  but  stay — if  I  could 
but  stay !  " 

It  was  too  late  for  this,  however,  so  adieus 
were  made,  and  in  half  an  hour  the  Murray 
carriage  •was  rolling  out  of  Kingston,  bearing 
as  its  freight  Mrs.  Murray,  her  guest,  and  her 
two  unmarried  daughters — the  third  daughter, 
Mrs.  Bering,  having  preceded  them  with  her 
father. 

Any  one  who  has  ever  been  in  the  charm- 
ing hill-country  of  Jamaica  will  understand  why 
it  was  that,  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  days. 
Miss  Vardray  ceased  to  regret  her  change  of 
quarters.  In  the  burning  heat  of  Kingston, 
existence  had  been  something  nearly  approach- 
ing to  a  torment — in  her  new  abode  it  was  a 
delight.  Every  hundred  feet  of  mountain- 
elevation  was  equivalent  to  a  degree  of  lati- 
tude  ;  and,  though  the  luxuriance  of  tropical 
vegetation  crowned  these  lovely  hills,  the  air 
that  fanned  them  was  fresh  and  pure  as  an 
elixir  of  life.  The  sultry  heat  of  the  coast 
•was  a  thing  incredible  in  the  airy  villa  that 
•was  perched  on  the  mountain  -  side  like  an 
eagle's  eyrie,  •while  far  below  a  wilderness  of 
glowing  landscape  stretched  to  the  sea,  and 
the  roofs  of  Kingston,  together  •with  the  mag- 
nificent harbor  of  Port  Royal,  lay  clearly  visi- 
ble in  the  distance.  The  young  Georgian  had 
been  so  closely  confined  since  her  arrival  in 
Jamaica  that  the  prodigal  loveliness  of  all 
things  was  to  her  a  revelation.  Child  of  the 
South  as  she  was,  her  own  South  was  like  a 
faint,  cold  outline  to  the  glowing  beauty  of 
these  fairy  regions  whei'e 

"  Droops   the    hea^vy  -  blossomed    bo-vver,  hangs  the 
hea^v^'-fruited  tree — 
Summer  isles  of  Eden  lying  in  dark-purple  spheres 
of  sea." 

Very  swiftly  the  days  flew  by.  There  is 
not  in  the  world  a  more  delightful  society  than 
that  of  the  planters  whose  country-seats  oc- 
cupy these  mountains,  and  the  headquarters 
of  all  the  gayety  afloat  was  that  very  house  in 
which  Miss  Vardray  was  a  guest.  Rides, 
drives,  excursions,  parties,  dinners,  constant 


POWELL  VARDRAY'S   LIFE. 


131 


visits  from  plantation  to  plantation,  made  up 
the  sum  of  daily  life  for  these  gay  daughters 
of  the  tropics ;  and  into  this  she  was  drawn 
almost  without  a  protest.  She  had  come  to 
be  happy — she  ended  by  being  gay  ;  and,  oh, 
what  a  wide  distance  there  is  between  the 
two  !  After  a  while,  she  began  to  be  grateful 
to  the  Murrays,  and  to  think  that  they  had 
simply  been  glad  to  give  her  this  pleasure 
without  incurring  any  risk  to  themselves  there- 
by. But  her  heart  beat  sorely  whenever  she 
thought  of  the  man  who  had  gone  away  with- 
out one  word  of  farewell — gone  just  when  he 
might  have  known  that  her  brief  period  of 
freedom  had  come.  Still,  she  laughed,  and 
sang,  and  danced,  and  did  all  things  so  charm- 
ingly, that  she  fascinated  women  as  well  as 
men,  old  as  well  as  young,  with  whom  she 
came  in  contact.  She  made  quite  a  furore 
during  her  short  season  of  questionable  en- 
joyment. People  forgot  to  patronize  her  with 
the  condescending  patronage  which  was  due 
her  social  position.  They  even  forgot  this  so- 
cial  position  altogether,  and,  only  recognizing 
the  native  nobihty  stamped  upon  the  woman, 
the  grace  of  person,  and  the  gifts  of  mind 
that  made  so  fair  a  hold,  grounded  arms  in  a 
salute  more  valuable  because  unconscious. 

Suddenly,  however,  into  the  midst  of  this 
there  came  a  jar.  Suddenly  Powell  waked  to 
the  knowledge  that  all  was  not  so  smooth  as 
it  appeared,  and  that,  in  truth,  she  was  the 
centre  of  a  scheme,  common  enough  in  so- 
ciety, yet,  to  some  people,  none  the  less  re- 
volting on  that  account.  Among  her  many 
admirers  was  one  whom  a  little  encouragement 
would  soon  have  transferred  into  a  serious 
suitor,  and  this  encouragement  was  given  not 
by  herself,  but  by  Mrs.  Bering.  The  person 
in  question  was  a  young  planter  of  moderately 
good  birth,  moderately  good  fortune,  and  mod- 
erately good  appearance,  who  had  once  been 
in  Ellinor  Murray's  train,  but  whose  preten- 
sions were  not  considered  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  warrant  a  formal  dismissal,  and 
who  was  now  handed  over  to  the  young  teach- 
er with  an  understanding  on  all  sides  that  it 
■was  an  admirable  thing  for  her,  and  a  settle- 
ment in  life  she  would  do  well  to  accept.  That 
the  girl  herself  looked  at  the  matter  from  a 
different  point  of  view,  may  have  been  foolish, 
but,  at  least,  was  not  remarkable.  In  many 
respects,  life  had  been  hard  lines  to  her  ;  but 
it  had  never  taught  her — it  never  did  teach 
her — that  lesson  of  the  world  which  most 


women  learn  in  their  cradles,  and  the  alpha 
and  omega  of  which  is — a.  husband.  Faults, 
and  to  spare,  she  had  ;  but  all  of  them  put  to- 
gether did  not  suffice  to  make  up  the  sum  of 
that  one  virtue,  entitled  reasonable  prudence, 
which,  in  matters  of  this  kind,  the  world  is 
never  weary  of  commending.  Therefore,  when 
Mrs.  Bering  signified  that  a  word  would  be 
enough  to  place  Mr.  Covington  at  her  feet,  it 
would  be  hard  to  say  whether  this  clever  lady 
was  most  astonished  or  mortified  by  the  cour- 
teous but  decided  repulse  which  she  received. 
It  was  so  unexpected  that  she  could  scarcely 
contain  her  chagrin  within  moderate  bounds. 
She  had  laid  her  plans  so  well,  she  had  brought 
them  by  careful  degrees  to  such  a  successful 
issue,  that  now  to  be  foiled  like  this  at  the 
very  last  was  hard — almost  too  hard  to  bear. 

"  She  is  either  a  deeper  schemer  or  a  greater 
fool  than  I  possibly  imagined,"  said  this  charm- 
ing lady  to  her  mother.  "  I  knew  that  Arthur 
Romeyne  had  been  amusing  himself  with  her 
to  a  shameful  extent,  and,  of  course,  I  knew 
also  that  she  was  flattering  herself  with  the 
hope  of  marrying  him  ;  but  I  never  really  be- 
lieved that  she  would  carry  her  game  to  the 
length  of  refusing  Covington.  And  I  assured 
him,  too,  that  his  success  was  certain.  What 
can  I  say  to  him  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Covington  is  not  a  person  of  any  im- 
portance," said  Mrs.  Murray,  in  a  tone  of  quiet 
contempt  that  would  have  annihilated  its  ob- 
ject, if  he  could  have  heard  it.  "  You  know 
you  can  say  any  thing  to  him,  and  dispose  of 
him  in  any  way.  The  serious  matter  is,  that 
this  girl's  refusal  looks  very  badly — looks  as 
if  she  had  some  assured  ground  of  hope — to 
believe — about  Captain  Romeyne,  you  know." 

"  It  looks  as  if  she  were  either  scheming 
very  deeply,  or  hoping  very  absurdly,"  said 
Mrs.  Bering.  "  That  is  what  I  told  you  a  mo- 
ment ago.  But,  as  for  Captain  Romeyne,  it 
proves  nothing.  Of  course,  he  has  been  fool- 
ish ;  but  I  have  no  idea  that  he  has  been,  or 
intends  to  be,  any  thing  more ;  and  it  takes 
little  or  nothing  to  set  an  adventuress  of  this 
kind  to  castle-building." 

"  We  must  get  rid  of  her,  though,  Maud. 
It  was  against  my  wishes  that  she  was  invited ; 
but  you  were  so  sure  that  she  could  be  dis- 
posed of  in  this  way.  Now,  you  see  how  right 
I  was ;  and  Captain  Romeyne  may  come  back 
any  day — and  find  her  here." 

"  I  see  that  I  have  failed  in  my  plan,"  said 
Mrs.  Bering,  coolly;   "but,  at  least,  I  have 


132 


POWELL  VARDRAY'S  LIFE. 


done  no  harm.  JIatters  only  remain  as  they 
■were  before — no  better,  certainly  ;  but  no 
worse,  either." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  say  that,  when 
the  girl  is  still  here.  I  don't  like  it,  Maud.  I 
honestly  confess  that  it  makes  me  uneasy,  and 
I  don't  like  it." 

"  I  don't  like  it,  either,  mamma ;  but  we 
must  find  some  decent  excuse  for  sending  her 
away.  I  will  drive  into  Kingston  to-morrow, 
and  see  Madame  Girod.  No  doubt,  she  can  be 
induced  to  send  a  message  that  will  recall  her. 
There  can  be  no  danger  in  her  remaining  for  a 
day  or  two  longer,  you  know." 

In  the  course  of  the  next  twelve  hours, 
Mrs.  Bering  had  cause  to  alter  this  opinion, 
and  to  lay  up,  for  future  consideration,  the  im- 
portant lesson  that  a  policy  of  procrastination 
is  always  a  policy  of  loss.  That  evening  a 
large  party  dined  at  Flamstead — the  name  of 
the  Murray  seat — and,  after  dinner,  Powell 
was  called  to  the  piano.  She  sang  more  than 
ordinarily  well,  for  she  had  a  fresh,  flexile 
voice,  of  excellent  training  and  great  expres- 
sion ;  so,  after  a  while,  by  special  request,  she 
gave  the  "  Adelaide  "  of  Beethoven.  Although 
she  never  sang  it  afterward,  the  tender,  pas- 
sionful  strain  seemed  sometimes  breathed  into 
her  ear  by  unseen  lips,  and  they  always  brought 
back,  like  a  vivid  picture,  the  memory  of 
that  scene — the  brilliant  room  with  its  gayly- 
dressed  groups,  the  broad  windows  open  to 
the  fragrant  tropical  night,  and  the  luminous 
tropical  heavens,  the  faces  at  her  side,  and  the 
very  scent  of  the  flowers  drooping  in  her  hair. 
Suddenly,  the  golden  tide  of  melody  wavered 
and  almost  stopped ;  suddenly,  a  sharp  dis- 
cord came  into  the  sweet  tone-idyl,  and  sud- 
denly, also,  a  wave  of  color  swept  over  the 
singer's  face,  as  a  tall,  handsome  man  entered 
the  room,  and,  despite  the  "  Adelaide,"  was 
greeted  by  a  chorus  of  welcome, 

"  Why,  Captain  Romeyne,  is  this  you  ?  " 
"  What  an  unexpected  pleasure ! " 
"  My  dear  fellow,  where    did  you    drop 
from  ?  " 

"  Captain  Romeyne,  this  is  charming — and 
all  the  more  charming  because  such  a  sur- 
prise.    We  thought  you  far  enough  away." 

It  was  Mrs.  Bering  who  came  forward  with 
an  impulsive  rush,  and  said  this.  It  was  with 
her  that  Captain  Romeyne  first  shook  hands, 
and  to  her  made  an  explanation  of  his  un- 
expected appearance.  Powell  did  not  hear 
him ;  but  she  learned  afterward  that,  having 


chanced  upon  some  nautical  misfortune,  the 
yacht  had  been  obliged  to  put  back  into 
Kingston  for  repairs,  and  that,  without  giving 
warning  of  his  intention,  he  had  ridden  out  to 
Flamstead,  and  so  surprised  them. 

"  Mamma  will  be  dehghted,"  said  Mrs. 
Bering,  taking  his  arm.  "  She  was  talking  of 
you  only  to-day.  Come  and  let  me  give  her  a 
pleasant  surprise.  As  for  ElUnor — ^but  then  I 
must  not  tell  tales  out  of  school,  and  her  first 
look  will  be  apt  to  assure  you  whether  or  not 
she  is  glad  to  see  you.  We  have  quite  a 
charming  party  here,  and  we  mean  to  make 
you  prisoner,  now  that  you  are  in  our  hands. 
— "  Mr.  Latimer,  do  you  know  where  my  sister 
is  ? — Why,  Mr.  Covington,  I  am  surprised  that 
you  are  not  at  your  usual  devotions !  " 

Mr.  Covington  was  quick  enough  to  follow 
her  glance,  and  move  at  once  toward  Miss 
Yardray.  Observing  the  direction  of  his  steps, 
Captain  Romeyne  first  looked  surprised,  and 
then  laughed. 

"  So  Covington  has  found  a  new  shrine  !  " 
said  he,  lightly.  "  I  hope  Miss  Murray  did 
not  prove  very  cruel  ?  " 

"  Oh !  it  is  merely  a  case  of  mutual  ac- 
commodation," answered  Mrs.  Bering,  with  a 
shrug.  "  Ellinor  really  likes  the  poor  fellow, 
and,  having  the  kindest  heart  in  the  world, 
she  was  very  glad  to  dispose  of  him  by  hand- 
ing him  over  to  this  girl — one  of  Alicia's 
teachers,  whom  mamma  invited  here  to  please 
the  child,  and  who,  of  course,  is  delighted  with 
such  an  establishment  as  Mr.  Covington  offers 
her." 

Captain  Romeyne's  eyes — and  very  keen 
ones  they  were — followed  Mr.  Covington,  and 
rested  for  a  moment  on  Powell,  over  whom 
the  gentleman  was  just  then  bending. 

"  She  does  not  look  dehghted,"  said  he,  as 
he  saw  the  girl  turn  almost  haughtily  from 
some  speech  of  her  admirer's. 

"  Women's  looks  are  very  deceptive,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Bering,  with  a  glance  of  feigned 
indifference  and  real  vexation  in  that  direc- 
tion. "  Perhaps  she  thinks  she  can  play  with 
her  fish,  having  safely  landed  him.  Of  course, 
the  subject  cannot  mterest  you ;  but  it  is  an 
understood  thing  that  they  are  engaged.  Here 
is  mamma  now. — Mamma,  look  what  a  charm- 
ing surprise  I  have  brought  you — Captain  Ro- 
meyne in  person ! " 

How  wearily,  after  this,  the  hours  went  by 
to  Powell !  He  was  there  in  the  room  with 
her ;  but  oceans  and  mountains  might  have 


POWELL  YARDRAY'S   LIFE. 


133 


intcrvenecl,  for  all  the  satisfaction  that  his 
presence  gave.  lie  was  monopolized  by  the 
Murrays ;  sha  was  guarded  zealously  by  Mr. 
Covington  ;  and  even  glances  were  forbidden, 
since  glances,  unfortunately,  are  as  intelligible 
as  words  even  to  bystanders.  It  was  life  that 
throbbed  in  the  girl's  feverish  pulses  —  but 
such  bitter  life  that  just  then  she  would  will- 
ingly have  taken  instead  the  dead  calm  and 
stagnant  quiet  that,  unstirred  by  joy,  is  also 
untroubled  by  pain.  Unfortunately,  however, 
the  choice  between  these  two  states  is  never 
granted  us.  Without  intermission,  the  strain 
went  on,  until  at  last  the  effort  to  talk  easily 
and  laugh  gayly  became  more  than  she  could 
bear.  Then  she  seized  a  favorable  opportuni- 
ty— a  moment  when  no  one  was  observing 
her — and,  stepping  through  an  open  window, 
slipped  away  into  the  friendly  shadow  of  the 
night.  Once  outside,  she  did  not  linger  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  drawing-room,  but 
took  her  way  to  the  farther  extremity  of  the 
grounds,  where  an  abrupt  height  overlooked 
the  sleeping  ocean — a  lonely  spot,  where  the 
only  sound  which  broke  the  silence  was  a 
monotone  of  surf  on  the  beach  far  below. 
There  she  knelt  down,  and  laid  her  cheek  on 
the  cold  stone  of  a  balustrade  that  guarded 
the  dangerous  descent.  The  holy  and  ineffa- 
ble peace  of  Nature  soothed  \xer  as  nothing 
else  could  have  done.  The  great  mother 
seemed  stretching  soft  arms  of  love  around 
her,  and  sending  sweet  messages  in  every 
breath  of  odorous  air  and  every  echo  of  the 
waves  below.  By  degrees,  a  sort  of  lethargy 
crept  over  her.  How  long  it  lasted,  she  had 
no  means  of  knowing.  It  was  broken,  at  last, 
by  a  step  on  the  gravel  v.'alk,  a  presence  at 
her  side,  and  a  voice  she  knew  only  too  well, 
saying : 

"  How  devout  you  look  !  Have  you  stolen 
away  here  to  say  your  prayers  ?  " 

She  glanced  up  without  changing  her  atti- 
tude, looking  rarely  lovely  in  the  silver  star- 
light. 

"  I  came  away  for  quiet,"  she  said.  "  Is 
that  very  strange  ?  Xo  ;  I  have  not  been  say- 
ing any  prayers— unless  they  were  to  the  ocean." 

"  And  did  it  hear  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  a  degree.  I  have  been  very 
much  at  rest  for  a  time." 

"  So  you  came  here  for  rest  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  that  a  moment  ago. 
Quiet  and  rest  are  synonymous  terms — are 
they  not  ? " 


"  Hardly,  I  think.  There  is  a  difference 
between  them ;  but — well,  I  did  not  follow 
you  to  split  hairs  over  verbal  distinctions. 
Look  at  me  again,  please.  I  want  to  see 
your  eyes,  while  I  ask  you  a  question.  There 
— that  is  it.  Steady  now  !  don't  start  if  I  am 
outrageously  impertinent.  Tell  me — are  you 
engaged  to  Covington  ?  " 

He  spoke  quickly,  almost  sharply — spoke 
as  if  suspense  irked  him,  and  yet  as  if  he 
feared  to  end  it — but  the  astonishment  that 
sprang  at  once  into  her  eyes  answered  him 
without  any  need  of  words.  He  first  smiled, 
then  laughed,  at  her  look  of  blank  amaze- 
ment, 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  he  said  ;  "  don't  trouble 
yourself  to  speak ;  your  face  has  done  that 
for  you,  I  was  a  fool  to  believe  it  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  You  believed  that  I  was  engaged  to  Mr. 
Covington  ?  Ah  !  I  can  guess — Mrs.  Bering 
told  you  so." 

"  And  if  she  did  ?  " 

"  Then  she  might  have  told  you,  also,  that 
it  is  no  fault  of  hers  I  am  not,  that  she  did 
her  utmost  to  draw  me  into  an  engagement, 
and  that  it  was  plainly  for  this  purpose  that  I 
was  invited  here." 

Romeyne  started  slightly,  then  recovered 
himself  and  laughed  again. 

"  Was  it,  indeed  ?  Well,  it  matters  very 
little  about  the  purpose.  The  result  is  that 
we  are  once  more  face  to  face,  as  I  almost 
feared  we  never  should  be  again.  This  is 
enough  for  me.  Powell,  is  it  not  enough  for 
you  also  ?  " 

His  gay,  careless  tones  softened  over  the 
last  words,  and  the  girl  beside  him  quivered 
from  head  to  foot.  She  knew  that  the  crown- 
ing issue  of  her  life  had  come ;  yet  through 
the  midst  of  her  sudden  joy  there  pulsated 
one  sharp  throb  of  pain.  She  could  not  seize 
or  analyze  it,  for  in  a  second  it  was  gone  ;  but 
she  remembered  it  afterward,  and  wondered 
if  it  had  been  a  premonition.  She  did  not 
speak,  though  Romeyne  waited  for  her  answer, 
and  in  that  moment  the  very  voices  of  the 
night  seemed  hushed,  as  if  listening  for  her 
reply — only  far  below  were  heard  the  soft  rus- 
tling of  the  stately  palms  and  the  murmur  of 
the  tide  upon  the  beach.  Then  the  young 
man  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  bent  his  face 
to  a  level  with  her  own. 

"Powell,"  he  said,  "have  I  vexed  you? 
Will  you  not  even  speak  to  me  ?     It  is  true 


134 


POWELL  VARDRAY'S   LIFE. 


that  we  have  known  each  other  a  very  short 
time ;  but  I  liardly  think  words  are  needed 
between  us.  We  know  all — we  know  that  we 
love  each  other.  Why,  then,  should  we  stand 
apart,  when  life  is  so  short  and  every  minute 
is  so  precious  ?  I  came  to  this  place  only  be- 
cause I  heard  that  you  were  here,  and  because 
I  thought  that  at  last — " 

He  stopped,  caught  his  breath  sharply, 
and  listened.  The  silence  of  the  night  had 
been  all  around  them  a  moment  before  ;  but 
now  the  soft  breeze  was  laden  •with  other 
sounds  —  with  footsteps,  with  voices,  with 
laughter  that  jarred  on  the  solemn  quiet  of 
Xature.  Komeyne  muttered  one  impatient 
exclamation,  set  his  teeth,  and  then  turned. 

"I  must  go,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  "they 
will  find  me  here,  if  I  don't.  Remember  this^ 
^ye  belong  to  each  other,  and  before  this  time 
to-morrow  night  your  own  lips  shall  tell  me 
so.     Now — good-night!" 

He  caught  her  hands,  kissed  them  passion- 
ately, and,  before  she  could  utter  a  word,  was 
gone.  A  minute  later,  she  heard  him  meet 
the  advancing  party,  heard  their  exclamations 
and  inquiries,  heard  his  careless  answers,  and 
knew  that  they  turned  and  began  to  re- 
trace their  steps.  Gradually,  the  gay  voices 
died  away,  the  calm  Oreads  of  the  hushed 
solitude  came  back,  and,  as  she  knelt,  still 
motionless,  she  could  scarcely  tell  whether 
that  brief  interview  had  been  a  dream  or  a 
reality. 

II. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Dering  felt  that 
the  departure  of  the  young  teacher  could  not 
in  safety  be  longer  delayed ;  so,  putting  all 
other  engagements  aside,  she  drove  into 
Kmgston  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  Madame 
Girod.  Sine  it  was  impossible  to  return  be- 
fore evening,  she  left  the  reins  of  management 
in  her  mother's  hands,  and  for  a  time  Mrs. 
Murray  proved  equal  to  the  important  respon- 
sibility. As  the  day  wore  on,  she  kept  Ro- 
meyne  and  Powell  very  cleverly  apart ;  but,  in 
the  afternoon,  a  riding-party  was  proposed, 
and,  after  her  sanction  had  been  given,  she 
found,  to  her  consternation,  that  no  one  but 
the  young  Georgian  was  bold  enough  to  I'ide 
a  certain  beautiful  mare  which  belonged  to 
Romeyne,  and  the  rider  of  which  would  be 
honored  with  his  attendance.  As  in  courtesy 
bound,  he  had  offered  the  animal  to  Miss  Mur- 
ray ;  but  that  young  lady's  neck  was  dearer 


to  her  than  even  a  prospective  baronet.  She 
looked  at  the  royal  creature,  who  was  champ- 
ing her  bit  and  tossing  her  head  with  such  fiery 
impatience,  and,  after  counting  the  chances 
for  and  against  her  safety  of  life  and  limb,  de- 
clined to  run  the  risk.  Then  Romeyne  turned 
to  Powell,  who  was  standing  near. 

"Are  you  afraid  to  ride  her,  Miss  Yar- 
dray  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  girl  looked  up  with  a  gleam  of  rapture 
in  her  eyes  that  answered  him  before  her  lips 
said : 

"No." 

"  Will  you  ride  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  gladly." 

She  had  not  meant  to  be  so  frank,  but  na- 
ture is  sometimes  stronger  than  conventional- 
ity, and  the  smile  that  came  over  his  face  was 
the  reward  of  her  candor.  In  five  minutes 
she  was  moimted,  and  in  another  five  the 
party  was  in  motion.  They  started  without 
any  definite  point  of  destination,  and  so  it 
was  not  strange  that  the  difierent  couples 
were  soon  widely  scattered,  having  taken 
whatever  direction  chance  or  the  inclination 
of  the  moment  prompted.  Romeyne  and 
Powell  were  among  the  first  of  these  desert- 
ers. They  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  party, 
and,  when  a  road  branching  off  among  the 
hills  seemed  beckoning  them  into  a  region  of 
enchantment,  there  was  nothing  more  easy 
than  to  heed  the  invitation.  They  looked  at 
each  other,  smiled,  and  turned  their  horses' 
heads.  After  that  they  saw  no  more  of  their 
companions.  They  wandered  on  and  on,  and, 
when  at  last  the  silence  of  the  scene  and  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  made  them  pause,  they 
found  themselves  in  the  midst  of  the  moun- 
tains, with  wild,  tropical  forest  stretching 
around  on  every  side,  and  hardly  a  path  be- 
neath their  horses'  feet.  What  was  their  po- 
sition, whence  they  had  come,  in  what  direc- 
tion lay  their  homeward  road,  neither  of  them 
knew.  They  only  reahzed  that,  in  the  delight 
of  mutual  companionship,  in  the  glory  of 
heaven  and  the  beauty  of  earth,  they  had 
recked  little  of  their  course,  and  so — lost  it. 

When  they  came  to  their  senses,  the  sun 
was  going  down,  and  they  knew  that  night 
would  fall  upon  them  as  soon  as  his  broad  red 
disk  had  disappeared.  Just  then,  however, 
the  scene  was  of  paradise.  The  air  was  full 
of  myriad  perfumes  ;  the  sky  was  a  vault  of 
sapphire,  the  distant  ocean  a  plain  of  azure  ; 
the  broken,  picturesque  peaks  of  the  raoun- 


POWELL  VARDRAY'S   LIFE. 


135 


tain-range  were  crowned  with  plumy  sentinels 
and  girdled  with  a  wealth  of  foliage,  while 
heavy  palms  drooped  over  their  heads,  and 
the  I'oeks  and  glades  about  them  were  enam- 
elled with  a  thousand  shrubs,  each  of  which, 
in  less  favored  climes,  would  have  been  a  rare 
exotic.  Everywhere  opened  the  broad,  suc- 
culent leaves  that  abound  in  the  tropics ; 
everywhere  shone  the  golden  and  crimson 
glories  for  which  botany  has  no  name ;  and 
through  the  deep  green  of  a  jungle  on  one 
side  was  caught  the  sheen  of  flashing  water, 
as  a  swift  mountaiu-stream  leaped  down  a 
height  of  some  eighty  feet  into  a  rocky  bed 
below,  and  sent  up  a  shower  of  spray  like  a 
silver  mist.  The  whole  was  so  heavenly  that, 
when  they  paused,  Powell  scarcely  noticed  the 
gravity  of  her  companion's  face,  or  his  anx- 
ious look  around  him.  She  was  drinking  in  a 
deep  draught  of  the  beauty  lavished  before 
her,  when  he  spoke  : 

"  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  we  have  lost 
our  way.  This  is  no  road  at  all  that  we  have 
been  following,  and  I  really  have  very  little 
idea  of  our  bearings." 

"  We  shall  have  to  turn  back,  I  suppose," 
said  she,  carelessly.  "  It  is  a  pity,  for  we  shall 
be  late  in  reaching  Flamstead.  We  can  turn 
back — can  we  not  ?  "  she  added,  with  a  sudden 
accession  of  interest  and  concern,  caused  by  a 
glance  at  Romeyne's  face. 

"  I — am  not  sure  of  it,"  said  he,  slowly, 
as,  turning  in  his  saddle,  he  looked  in  the  di- 
rection from  which  they  had  come.  "  I  am 
afraid  that,  if  we  do  turn  back,  we  shall  not 
be  able  to  reach  the  road,"  he  went  on. 
"  Unfortimately,  I  hardly  noticed  the  way  at 
all,  and  there  are  no  landmarks  in  my  memory. 
The  scenery  is  so  much  alike  that  we  may 
have  wandered  Heaven  only  knows  how  far." 

"  What  arc  we  to  do — keep  straight  on  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not  do  that,  with  the  night  so  near 
at  hand." 

"  Where  is  the  middle  course,  then  ?  Wc 
cannot  stand  here  until  daylight." 

"  No — ^not  if  we  can  help  it.  Will  you 
hold  my  horse  a  minute  ?  Perhaps,  if  I  climb 
that  hill  yonder,  I  may  see  something  to  guide 
us." 

He  dismounted  as  he  spoke,  and,  bringing 
up  his  horse,  gave  her  the  rein.  As  she  took 
it  she  could  not  forbear  urging  him  to  haste, 
for  she  had  been  long  enough  in  the  tropics 
to  know  that  the  sun  would  sink  in  a  few  min- 
utes, and  that  darkness  would  almost  instant- 


ly follow.  He  did  not  need  the  recommenda. 
tion,  but  wont  off  at  once,  breaking  through 
the  luxuriant  undergrowth,  dashing  over  the 
torrent,  and  springing  up  the  precipice  down 
which  the  cascade  tumbled.  Soon  she  lost 
sight  of  him  ;  but  she  could  hear  his  voice 
when  he  spoke,  and  now  and  then  a  large 
stone  fell  crashing  along  the  hill,  making  her 
tremble  for  his  safety.  Suddenly  the  sun 
went  down,  sinking  like  a  shot  into  the  dis- 
tant expanse  of  ocean,  and,  simultaneously, 
the  fan-like  foliage  began  to  stir  with  the 
breath  of  the  land-breeze,  while  a  chorus  of 
insect  voices  made  all  Nature  animate  with 
their  rejoicing.  At  this  moment,  Powell  heard 
a  shout  that  made  her  look  eagerly  upward. 
She  saw  Romeyne  on  a  point  of  rock  far  above 
her  head  ;  but  he  was  dwarfed  to  almost  pig- 
ray  dimensions,  and  his  voice,  as  it  floated 
down,  sounded  strangely  distant. 

"  I  can  see  nothing,"  he  said — "  nothing 
but  the  mountains  and  the  sea.  I  fancy  that 
Flamstead  is  in  that  direction  "  (he  pointed 
southeast),  "  but  I  cannot  tell,  and  the  coun- 
try is  too  broken  for  sight." 

*'  But  is  there  no  other  house  to  be  seen  ?  " 
Powell  asked,  anxiously,  for  the  situation  be- 
gan to  break  upon  her  in  a  far  from  pleas- 
ant light. 

He  looked  round  in  every  direction,  using 
his  hand  as  a  telescope,  then  answered,  slowly  : 

"  None." 

"  Do  you  see  any  road  ?  " 

"  Not  even  a  path." 

"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  \^e  must  keep  up  our  spirits,  in  the  first 
place,  and,  if  necessary,  we  must  bivouac  out 
all  night,  in  the  second.  Would  you  be  afraid 
to  do  that  ?  " 

"  I  should  prefer  to  go  back  to  Flamstead." 

"Ah!  so  would  L  Well,  it  is  growing 
dark,  and  I  may  be  some  time  in  reaching 
you — so  I  had  better  come  down.  I  think  I 
see  a  way  out  of  our  difficulty.  I  recognize  a 
landmark  over  yonder,  and,  if  we  can  only  keep 
straight  and  reach  it,  we  shall  be  all  right  in 
an  hour  or  two." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  come  doTvn  where  you 
went  up  ?  " 

"  Necessarily — since  that  is  the  only  prac- 
ticable point  of  descent.  It  is  confoundedly 
slippery,  too.  I  only  hope  I  sha'n't  break  my 
neck — that  would  be  unpleasant  for  you." 

"  Don't  talk  so  heedlessly  ;  and  pray  take 
care." 


136 


rOWELL   VARDRAY'S   LIFE. 


"  Can  you  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  quite  plainly." 

"  Kiss  your  hand  to  mo,  then  ;  and  now — 
en  avantr'' 

He  waved  his  own  hand  gayly,  and  then 
swung  himself  over  a  point  of  rock.  After 
this,  Powell  could  not  see  him  any  longer. 
The  luxuriant  foliage  hid  him  from  her  sight, 
and,  though  she  strained  her  eyes  to  pierce 
through  the  dusk,  it  was  impossible  to  follow 
his  movements.  Then  the  horses  grew  restive, 
and  she  had  some  trouble  in  quieting  them. 
Before  she  entirely  succeeded  in  this,  there 
came  a  sound  that  chilled  her  blood — a  sharp 
exclamation,  an  ominous  crashing  of  a  heavy 
body  through  the  dense  undergrowth,  a  dull 
fall,  a  deep  groan,  and  then  an  awful  silence. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  sat  stricken  with 
horror,  then  she  raised  her  voice  and  called 
Romeyne's  name  ;  but  no  answer  was  returned. 
She  waited  a  moment  and  called  again — still 
no  answer.  Then  she  sprang  from  her  saddle, 
left  the  horses  to  go  where  they  would,  and, 
plunging  recklessly  into  the  thicket,  made  her 
way  to  the  spot  where  he  had  ascended.  It 
took  her  some  time  to  do  this,  for  her  long 
habit  was  much  in  her  way,  and  the  water- 
course intervened ;  but  on  she  went,  recklessly, 
through  the  prickly  shrubs,  over  the  foaming 
cataract,  forward  despite  all  obstacles,  despite 
her  torn  dress  and  bleeding  hands,  until  at 
last  she  reached  her  point  of  destination — the 
foot  of  the  hill.  Then  she  paused,  and  gazed 
earnestly  around.  Even  at  noonday,  the  spot 
where  she  stood  was  dim  and  dark  with  the 
shade  of  overhanging  trees  ;  now,  in  the  dusky 
gloaming,  the  shadows  that  gathered  there 
were  almost  unfathomable.  Still,  after  a  mo- 
ment, her  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  dark- 
ness, and  she  could  distinguish,  in  form  at 
least,  the  objects  surrounding  her.  On  one 
side  was  the  silvery  sheen  of  the  water-fall ;  on 
the  other,  a  gigantic  banana  rose  like  a  senti- 
nel over  the  heads  of  the  lesser  trees,  and  flung 
its  broad  leaves  against  the  treacherous  rocks 
of  the  steep  ascent.  The  trunk  of  this  tree 
was  not  three  feet  from  the  cascade,  and,  as 
Powell  stood  beside  it,  a  spray  of  the  falling 
water  came  like  rain  in  her  face.  Once  again 
she  called,  and  now  a  faint  groan  answered 
her.  Guided  by  this,  she  sprang  forward,  and 
in  a  moment  was  kneeling  by  a  prostrate  figure 
that  lay  on  the  verge  of  the  stream,  half  in, 
half  out  of,  the  foaming  water.  The  silent 
depths  of  forest  echoed  with  weird  distinctness 


the  wailing  sound  that  broke  from  her  lips  as 
she  bent  down  and  lifted  in  her  arms  that 
stricken  head. 

"  My  love !  my  love !  "  she  cried,  in  tones 
that  might  have  v>-aked  the  dead,  "  can  you  not 
speak  to  me  ?    My  God  !  are  you  killed  ?  " 

No  sound  answered  her,  not  even  a  groan. 
The  head  which  she  supported  fell  heavily 
over  her  arm,  and  the  strong  young  form  lay 
helpless  and  motionless  with  the  leaden  weight 
of  insensibility.  After  a  moment,  she  bent 
down  and  laid  her  ear  over  his  heart.  At  first 
she  could  not  tell  whether  it  beat,  but  grad- 
ually she  caught  the  slow,  deep  throbs,  and 
knew  that  life  still  held  the  citadel.  That 
knowledge  was  like  an  elixir  of  vitality  to  her, 
and  seemed  to  fill  her  with  a  strength  and 
energy  that  must  have  been  lent  from  Heaven 
for  the  time.  She  strove  to  draw  him  up  from 
the  water;  but  the  first  movement  brought 
forth  such  a  moan  of  pain  that  she  was  obliged 
to  desist  from  this  attempt.  Then  she  looked 
round ;  cordial  there  was  none,  but  Nature's 
great  restorative  was  near  at  hand,  and  she 
sprinkled  his  face  with  water  until  it  was  evi- 
dent that  he  would  revive.  When  this  was 
apparent,  a  thought  suddenly  struck  her,  and 
she  plunged  her  hand  into  his  pockets,  search- 
ing for  what  she  found  at  last — a  small  flask, 
containing  French  brandy.  She  first  tasted 
this,  then  held  it  to  his  lips,  and  poured  a 
slender  stream  down  his  throat.  In  an  in- 
stant, the  effect  was  visible.  He  drew  a  deep, 
gurgling  breath,  opened  his  eyes,  strove  to 
raise  himself,  fell  back  with  a  sharp  cry  of 
pain,  and  lay  still  for  a  moment,  panting 
heavily.     After  a  while,  he  said,  slowly  : 

"  Powell,  are  you  there  ?  are  you  near 
me?" 

"  I  am  here,  my  love,  my  poor  darling," 
said  the  girl,  whose  arms  were  round  him,  and 
whose  sobs  were  choking  her,  as  she  kept 
them  back,  and  strove  to  answer  calmly. 

"  How  did  you  " — a  pause  and  a  gasp — 
"  reach  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  heard  you  fall,  and  I 
came  —  that  is  all.  Are  you  much  hurt  ? 
Oh  !  do  you  think  you  are  much  hurt  V  " 

"  I  cannot  tell.  Wait  a  moment — let  me 
lift  myself  and  see.  Sweetheart,  hold  my 
shoulders — help  to  raise  me  if  you  can.  There 
— now — 0  my  God !  " 

It  was  no  mere  exclamation,  this  last,  no 
mere  utterance  of  an  ordinary  appeal,  but  a 
soul's  great  shuddering  cry  over  an  agony  too 


POWELL  VARDRAY'S  LIFE. 


137 


great  for  endurance.  After  it  there  followed  a 
stillness,  and  Powell  knew  tliat  he  had  fainted. 

She  did  not  faint  herself,  she  did  not  even 
shed  a  tear.  Indeed,  in  that  moment  she 
proved  the  heroic  nature  of  her  love,  by  the 
strength  it  gave  her  above  her  own  weakness. 
She  knelt  by  him,  chafing  his  hands,  bathing 
his  face,  pouring  brandy  as  well  as  she  could 
between  his  clinched  teeth,  and  striving,  by 
every  means  in  her  power,  to  revive  him :  but 
no  sound  came  from  her  lips,  no  throb  of  her 
anguish  found  outward  expression.  Once  only, 
she  paused  and  looked  upward.  Through  the 
drooping,  plume-like  foliage,  the  brilliant  con- 
stellations of  the  southern  heaven  gazed  down, 
shedding  their  mellow  splendor  even  into  this 
dark  spot,  and  shimmering  fitfully  over  the 
silver  cascade.  Save  the  rush  of  water,  all 
around  was  full  of  the  strange  awe  and  silence 
of  the  night — that  silence  in  which  we  seem  to 
hear  the  great  heart  of  Nature  deeply  beating. 
Sounds  there  were,  but  they  could  scarcely  be 
analyzed  or  described — distant  fitful  voices  of 
the  forest  that  deepened  rather  than  lessened 
the  significance  of  the  solitude.  Powell  felt 
that  she  was  utterly  alone — alone  with  none 
but  God  to  aid — and  out  of  the  very  despera- 
tion of  despair  came  courage.  The  great  soul 
rose  up  bravely  to  face  the  exigence,  and  after 
that  she  never  faltered,  even  to  the  end. 

At  last  Romeyne  slowly  came  back  to  con- 
sciousness, and  once  more  opened  his  eyes 
into  those  that,  full  of  wistful  pain,  gazed  so 
tenderly  upon  him. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  said,  faintly,  "  bend 
down." 

She  bent  down,  and  he  kissed  her  thrice 
as  passionately,  but  more  softly,  than  he  had 
kissed  her  hand  the  night  before.  Then  he 
told  her  to  lay  his  head  gently  on  the  ground. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  much  pained  at  this. 
"  Why  should  I  not  hold  it  ?  " 

"  Because  you  must  go  back  to  Flamstead," 
he  answered.  "  When  I  was  up  there  " — he 
glanced  to  the  hill  over  his  head — "  I  saw 
what  our  best  path  would  be,  and  I  think 
there  is  light  enough  for  you  to  follow  it.  I 
cannot  move.  You  must  leave  me  here,  and 
send  for  me.  Listen  now,  and  let  me  tell  you 
the  route — " 

But  she  would  not  listen — she  cried  out  at 
once  on  the  cruelty  of  this. 

"I  will  not  go,"  she  said.  "If  I  could 
find  the  way  a  hundred  times  over,  I  would 
not  go.   How  can  you  bid  me  do  such  a  thing  ? 


How  can  you  think  I  would  leave  you  here 
suffering  and  alone  ?  If  I  could  bring  help,  it 
would  be  different ;  but  it  would  require  hours 
at  least,  and  you  all  alone — oh,  I  would  die 
sooner  than  go  !  Y'ou  are  cruel — cruel  to  try 
to  send  me  from  you  like  this  ! " 

"  My  dai-liug,  it  is  for — he  stopped  as  he 
was  about  to  say  "  your  own  sake."  lie  knew 
this  was  the  last  argument  in  the  world  to  move 
her;  so  after  a  moment  he  added — "it  is  for 
the  best.  Do  you  think  it  is  not  happiness  to 
me  to  know  that  you  are  here,  to  feel  your 
arms  around  me,  and  your  hand  upon  me,  but 
— but  it  must  not  be.  Powell,  my  own,  my 
own,  you  must  go ! " 

She  understood  him.  She  understood  how 
he  thought  of  her  even  in  his  great  extremity ; 
and  how,  for  her  own  sake,  he  was  willing  to 
send  her  from  him.  She  knew,  too,  that  he 
wished  to  spare  her  what  might  be  a  vigil  of 
death,  and  m  a  moment  her  soul  nerved  itself 
for  any  endurance. 

"  You  are  thinking  of  me,"  she  said,  calm- 
ly, "  but  there  is  no  need  for  it.  Here — now 
— the  world  is  less  than  nothing  to  me,  and 
you  are  all.  If  I  could  help  you  by  going,  I 
might  force  myself  to  leave  you.  But  there  is 
no  question  of  that.  The  best  help  I  can 
render  you  is  to  stay  by  you,  and  I  shall  stay. 
Arthur,  my  own  love,  be  merciful — let  me  do 
it  in  peace." 

He  smiled  faintly.  He  had  said  his  say, 
and  was  too  weak  to  urge  her  further. 

"  Stay,  then,"  he  murmured.  "  But  it  will 
be  very,  very  bitter  to  you." 

After  this  the  hours  wore  slowly  on — 
broken  only  by  such  strong  wrestlings  with 
pain  as  would  have  torn  the  girl's  heart  if  she 
had  seen  the  veriest  stranger  suffer  them,  yet 
on  which  she  looked  without  a  murmur.  She 
held  the  quivering  form,  wiped  the  streaming 
brow,  moistened  the  parched  lips,  and  gave 
the  brandy  as  he  directed — all  without  a  single 
falter.  Then  in  the  intervals,  when  he  could 
talk  faintly  and  brokenly,  she  listened  and  an- 
swered more  like  an  angel  than  a  woman. 
Love  made  her,  for  the  time  being,  almost 
divine,  endowing  her  with  a  strength,  a  wis- 
dom, and  a  tenderness,  that  in  herself  she 
could  not  claim.  In  these  few  hours  of  mingled 
agony  and  bhss,  she  hved  her  life — all  that  was 
ever  granted  her.  He  was  dying ;  the  sum- 
mons had  come  in  the  full  glory  of  his  man- 
hood, and  he  was  going,  he  was  almost  gone, 
into  that  realm  of  dark  shadow  where  only 


138 


POWELL   VARDRAY'S  LIFE. 


faith  can  pierce  and  love  can  follow.  She 
knew  that,  but  she  also  knew  that  he  was  all 
hers — that  the  world  put  no  claim  between 
them  here,  that  heart  was  bared  to  heart  at 
last,  and  that  out  of  her  arms  no  human  power 
could  take  him  now.  They  belonged  to  each 
other.  He  had  told  her  that  the  night  before, 
but  the  sense  of  it  did  not  come  to  her  till 
now — ^now  that  he  was  dying  in  her  arms,  all 
alone  in  the  wild  forest.  Gradually  his  mind 
began  to  wander,  and  he  talked  of  an  English 
home  that  his  eyes  would  never  see  again. 

"  K I  could  only  have  taken  you  there,  my 
darling,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  return  to  con- 
sciousness. "  But  this  may  be  best.  We  have 
tasted  all  the  sweetness  of  the  cup  of  love,  and 
we  are  spared  any  of  its  bitterness.  Bitterness 
might  have  come,  you  know — even  to  us.  I 
wonder  if  I  am  going,  Powell  ?  I  wonder  if  it 
is  because  I  am  not  myself  that  I  feel  so 
strangely  content — so  strangely  sure  that  it  is 
all  right  ?  " 

"  God  only  knows,  love.  God  grant  that 
indeed  it  may  be  all  right — for  you  !  " 

"  Sweetheart,  you  won't  forget  me  soon  ?  " 

"Forget  you  !  "  What  a  low,  pitiful  cry  it 
was.  "Arthur,  my  only  love,  if  I  could  go  with 
you,  I  would — even  into  the  arms  of  death." 

"  Thank  God,  you  cannot,  then,  for  life  is 
sweet,  and  you  are  young.  Darling,  I  shall 
not  see  you  when  you  are  old." 

"  No  oiie  ever  will,"  said  she,  with  strange 
calmness. 

"  You  think  so  now — but  ah !  " 

It  was  one  of  the  fierce  paroxysms — the 
very  fiercest  that  had  been — and  Powell  al- 
most thought  it  was  the  struggle  of  dissolu- 
tion ;  but  after  a  while  it  passed,  and  then  she 
heard  him  whisper  under  his  breath  a  frag- 
ment of  the  grand  old  "  Dies  Irae."  "  Salva 
me,  foils pieiatis"  he  murmured,  and  she  caught 
the  words.  For  the  first  time — and  yet  she 
was  not  a  heathen — they  made  her  think  of 
his  soul. 

"  0  Arthur,"  she  cried,  "  shall  I  not  pray 
for  you  ? — shall  I  not  ask  God  to  have  mercy 
on  you  ?  " 

He  murmured  something  unintelligible,  but 
which  sounded  like  assent ;  and,  without 
changing  her  position,  she  poured  forth  her 
soul  in  a  tide  of  passionate  supplication.  The 
whole  strength  of  her  undying  love  went  into 
it,  and  never  before  had  the  silent  forest  heark- 
ened to  such  an  appeal  as  now  went  forth, 
piercing  the  infinite  spaces  of  eternity  to  the 


very  throne  of  God.  Suddenly  she  stopped, 
for  there  was  a  change  which  even  in  the 
darkness  she  perceived.  What  it  was  she 
could  not  analyze,  but  she  felt  at  once  that  the 
end  was  at  hand. 

"  Arthur,  Arthur,"  she  cried,  wildly,  "  are 
you  going  ?  " 

He  muttered  something  brokenly,  and  lay 
for  a  moment  in  a  stupor.  Then  he  started, 
and  a  smile  swept  over  his  face — a  smile  which 
even  in  the  faint  starlight  Powell  caught — and 
he  murmured  something  of  which  she  heard 
only  one  word — ^her  own  name.  With  that 
name  still  on  his  lips,  a  strong  shiver  seized 
him,  the  breath  fluttered — ceased — the  eyes 
closed — and  the  girl  knew  that  she  was  deso- 
late. 

When  Powell  came  to  herself  out  of  the 
awful  blackness  and  blankness  that  followed, 
she  was  lying  in  her  own  room  at  Madame 
Girod's.  Every  thing  around  looked  so  quiet 
and  so  familiar,  that  for  a  moment  she  almost 
believed  that  she  had  waked  from  a  horrible 
dream — but  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  The 
next  instant  memory  rushed  over  her — rushed 
not  singly  and  by  degrees — but  suddenly,  and 
in  one  awful  whole.  In  a  second,  she  remem- 
bered every  thing,  felt  every  thing,  and,  with 
a  low,  moaning  cry — a  protest,  as  it  were, 
against  life — she  turned  her  face  from  the 
light,  and  buried  it  in  the  pillows. 

At  that  cry,  the  German  teacher  rose  qui- 
etly from  a  seat  behind  the  bed-curtains,  and 
advancing  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  brow. 
She  started,  for  it  was  cooler  than  she  ex- 
pected.    Then  she  leaned  over  and  spoke  : 

"  Liebchen,  do  you  feel  better?  " 

The  voice  was  very  sweet,  and  Powell 
opened  her  eyes.  She  had  never  fancied  this 
woman  much — indeed,  she  had  taken  quite  a 
dislike  to  her,  in  the  quick,  impatient  fashion 
of  youth — but  now  she  read  such  earnest  kind- 
ness in  her  eyes,  that  the  sore  heart  opened  at 
once  to  receive  it. 

"  Better ! "  she  cried — then,  with  a  burst, 
"  Oh,  why  did  you  make  me  well  again  ?  Why 
did  you  not  let  me  die  ?  " 

"  Child,"  said  the  German,  gravely,  "  life 
and  death  are  in  God's  hands.  Were  you  so 
ready  to  go  to  Him,  that  you  can  talk  like 
this  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  more  ready ;  and  I  would 
have  gone  anywhere  with  him.  Oh,  Friiulein, 
tell  me  where  he  is  buried." 


POWELL  YARDRAYS  LIFE. 


139 


The  Friiulcin  looked  grave ;  but  she  also 
looked  sad  and  infinitely  pitiful.  "Do  you 
mean  Captain  Romeyne  ? "  she  asked,  at 
length. 

"  Whom  else  should  I  mean  ?  Oh,  my  poor 
love !  lie  died  iu  these  arms,  and  I — I  must 
live  on,  and  never  see  him  again." 

"  Died  !  My  poor  child,  are  you  sure  of 
that  ?  " 

"  Am  I  sure  ?  Friiulein,  what  do  you 
mean  ?  Did  I  not  see  him  die  ? — did  I  not 
feel  the  last  quiver  of  life  that  passed  over 
hira? — did  I  not — oh,  why  do  you  ask  me 
such  a  question  ?  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so 
strangely?  Fraulein,  it  cannot  be — "  She 
raised  herself,  and  caught  the  teacher's  arm, 
gazing  the  while  passionately  and  wildly  into 
the  eyes  that  regarded  her  with  such  infinite 
compassion.  "  Speak  ! "  she  gasped.  "  It  can- 
not be  that  he  is  alive  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  alive." 

The  girl  strove  to  speak,  strove  to  question, 
strove  evidently  to  say  "  Thank  God  ! "  but 
strength  failed.  Her  hand  relaxed  its  grasp 
on  the  teacher's  sleeve,  her  eyes  closed,  her 
head  sank  back — she  had  fainted.  Weeping 
softly,  the  German  applied  the  usual  remedies  ; 
and,  as  the  swoon  was  slight,  before  long  it 
yielded  to  them.  Then,  when  the  dark  eyes 
once  more  opened,  there  was  a  question  in 
their  depths,  and,  when  the  lips  unclosed,  it 
came  rushing  forth  at  once. 

"  Fraulein,  will  he  recover  ?  Oh,  God  bless 
you  for  such  news  !  But  tell  me — if  he  will 
ever  be  himself  again  ?  " 

"  He  will  recover  certainly  ;  it  is  said,  in- 
deed, he  is  much  better  now. 

"And  where  is  he?  When  can  I  see 
him  ?  " 

The  teacher  toyed  nervously  with  the  tas- 
sels of  the  bed-curtains,  and  looked  away, 
avoiding  Powell's  eyes,  and  gazing  out  of  the 
window. 

"  You  can't  see  him  at  all,"  she  said,  at 
last.     "  He  is  gone." 

"  Gone ! " 

"  He  sailed  yesterday  for  England." 

This  time  no  swoon  was  kind  enough  to 
come.  On  the  contrary,  the  startled  eyes 
opened  wider  and  wider,  with  incredulity  in 
their  gaze.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  they  could 
not  take  themselves  from  the  teacher's  face, 
until  the  expression  of  that  face  repeated  the 
news  so  sharply  told.  Then  there  was  a  cry — 
a  low,  pitiful  cry,  as  of  one  wounded  unto 


death — and  the  girl  once  more  sunk  back  and 
buried  her  face  from  the  light.  This  time  she 
tasted  the  full  bitterness  of  desolation,  and, 
tasting  it,  cried  out  for  death  as  a  release. 

But  death  came  not  at  her  desire.  Slowly 
and  by  degrees,  life  flowed  into  her  veins,  and 
beat  in  her  languid  pulses.  Slowly  the  duties 
of  existence  thronged  back  upon  her,  and  she 
rose  up  to  meet  them.  She  did  so  with  a 
strange,  stunned  quietude,  a  sort  of  dead  apa- 
thy, the  feeling  and  the  bearing  of  one  in 
whom  Fate  had  spent  its  last  blow.  She  did 
not  think  she  could  ever  suffer  another  pang, 
and  so  went  on  her  weary  round,  until  one  day 
all  this  false  quiet  was  suddenly  shivered, 
when  the  news  came  that  the  vessel  in  which 
Arthur  Romeyne  sailed  for  England,  having 
met  with  adverse  winds  and  storms,  had  gone 
down  at  sea. 

Not  long  after  this,  Alicia  Murray  came 
one  day  to  see  the  yoimg  teacher,  and  from 
her  Powell  received  an  assurance  which  she 
would  gladly  have  gone  in  sackcloth  and  ashes 
all  her  life  to  gain — the  assurance  that  the 
man,  for  whom  she  had  suffered  so  much,  had 
not  deserted  her  willingly,  or  even  knowingly. 
When  he  was  found  helpless  and  insensible,  a 
message  had  immediately  been  dispatched  for 
a  cousin  of  the  Romeyne  family,  who  was  act- 
ing as  British  consul  in  one  of  the  neighboring 
islands.  When  this  man  arrived,  his  first  reso- 
lution was  to  take  Romeyne  at  once  to  Eng- 
land. Mrs.  Bering,  who  inspired  the  idea,  sup- 
ported him  in  its  execution,  and  the  young 
man  was  removed  to  the  vessel  while  yet  una- 
ble to  oppose,  or  even  to  understand,  any 
thing  that  was  in  progress.  In  this  state  he 
sailed  ;  and  it  was  due  to  Mrs.  Dering  again, 
that  all  Kingston,  having  heard  of  his  wonder- 
ful recovery,  believed  that  he  had  gone  of  his 
own  free-will.  The  plan  was  well  enough  laid  ; 
but,  whether  it  would  have  succeeded  in  its 
final  result,  was  never  known.  God  stretched 
forth  His  arm  of  power,  the  wuids  and  the 
waves  rose  up  to  do  His  bidding,  and  all  was 
over.  The  good  ship  went  down,  the  ocean- 
tides  swept  over  the  heart  that  might  have 
been  so  true,  and  yet  again  might  have  been 
so  false ;  and  all  love,  all  hope,  all  suffering,- 
was  at  an  end  forever. 

Here,  also,  ended  Powell  Yardray's   life. 

In  all  the  years  of  her  existence,  she  never 

lived  again.    Yet  these  years  were  quiet  enough, 

and  in  one  sense — the  sense  of  duty  fulfilled 

I  and  work  performed — even  happy.    She  never 


140 


rOWELL   YARDRAY'S  LIFE. 


murmured  at  their  length  or  their  sameness. 
She  had  lived  her  life,  and  that  seemed  to 
suffice.  Yet,  as  she  once  told  Arthur  Romeyne, 
she  did  not  live  to  grow  old.  Before  that 
time,  the  summoner,  who  comes  to  all,  came 
to  her.  A  terrible  fever  decimated  the  island, 
and,  in  the  midst  of  panic  and  dismay,  she 
nuri-ed  the  sick,  tended  the  dying,  and  even 


helped  to  bury  the  dead.  She  gave  herself  no 
rest,  either  night  or  day ;  and,  when  all  was 
over,  when  the  pestilence  passed,  and  health 
came  back  to  those  whom  death  had  spared, 
she  sickened  and  died.  By  her  own  request, 
one  side  of  the  stone  which  marks  her  grave 
bears  this  inscription : 

"  Ich  habe  gelebt  und  geEebet." 


THE     END. 


i 


BEENAED'S  INVENTION 


vT 


I. 

TWELVE  o'clock. 
Not  midnight,  but  bright,  soft  noonday 
— the  noonday  of  lovely  April — in  the  old- 
fashioned  garden  of  an  old-fashioned  house, 
located  in  the  very  midst  of  the  business  por- 
tion  of  the   large   and   flourishing  town   of 

W .      It  had   once  been   a  very  elegant 

residence,  this  old  house,  and  had  stood  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town,  with  pleasant  hills  and 
valleys,  waving  woods  and  green  fields,  sweep- 
ing up  to  the  very  verge  of  the  garden.  But 
now,  all  around  it,  flowed  a  busy  tide  of 
trade  ;  warehouses  of  cotton  and  tobacco  rose 
on  either  side ;  wagons  and  drays  rattled  past 
unceasingly;  in  the  rear,  a  car-shop  belched 
forth  black  smoke ;  while  engines  screamed, 
and  trains  rumbled  heavily  back  and  forth,  at 
all  hours  of  the  night  and  day.  Still,  even 
amid  these  discordant  surroundings,  the  old 
house  held  its  own  bravely,  and,  wrapping  it- 
self about  with  a  mantle  of  dignified  reserve, 
looked  down  with  the  pride  of  conscious  an- 
tiquity upon  all  these  new-comers  of  the  later 
time.  It  had  a  right  to  do  this,  since  its  own 
recollections  went  back  to  the  time  when  the 
Georges  were  kings,  and  when,  at  intervals, 
the  red-men  gathered  strength  to  sweep  down 
upon  the  dove-cots  of  their  invaders.     It  was 

pointed  out  by  the  W ites  as  the  place 

where  Cornwallis  had  established  his  head- 
quarters, and  where  he  and  his  courtly  staff 
had  once  given  a  ball,  and  with  the  fair  Tory 
ladies  of  the  place  danced  a  summer's  night 
through.  Life  and  death,  and  joy  and  sor- 
row, had  each  had  its  own  time  within  its 
dark  old  walls  ;  yet,  still  it  stood,  a  memorial 
of  the  stately  past,  and,  in  some  wise,  a  re- 
buke of  the  flippant  present.  It  was  not  a 
pretty  house,  as  beauty  is  reckoned  now — no- 
10 


body  could  for  an  instant  compare  it  to  the 
elegant  villas  which  were  scattered  to  the 
westward,  and  monopolized  all  that  fair  out- 
look of  rolling  country  which  had  once  been 
its  own — neither  was  it  a  very  comfortable 
house,  according  to  modern  ideas  of  comfort. 
But  you  rarely  find,  nowadays,  such  work  as 
that  of  the  panelled  walls  or  richly-carved 
chimney-pieces,  and  there  were  nooks  and 
corners  about  it,  odd  rooms  stored  away  in  all 
sorts  of  unaccountable  places,  and  closets  al- 
most as  large  as  rooms  under  the  strange, 
dark,  winding  staircases,  which  gave  it  a 
charm  that  the  most  commodious  and  thor- 
oughly-ventilated houses  oftener  lack  than 
possess.  Then,  there  was  the  back  piazza,  all 
latticed  in  and  covered  with  green  vines,  until 
it  had  the  seclusion,  and  more  than  the  cool- 
ness, of  a  drawing-room.  And  beyond  this 
piazza  was  the  gem  of  the  whole  establishment 
— the  old-fashioned  garden,  shut  in  from  the 
outer  world  by  a  high  wall,  through  which  no 
one  could  peer,  and  over  which  no  one  could 
climb,  occupying  nearly  a  square,  full  of  fruit- 
trees,  fragrant  with  flowers,  and  abounding  in 
shrubs  that  half  a  century  before  had  been 
trimmed  into  the  formal  regularity  of  art,  but 
had  now  overgrown  every  thing  with  the  wild 
luxuriance  of  Nature. 

It  was  in  this  garden  that  the  flickering 
April  sunlight  marked  twelve  o'clock  on  a 
sundial  that  occupied  the  middle  of  a  green 
plat,  round  the  borders  of  which  bright-hued 
flowers  of  the  spring  were  blooming,  while 
just  in  front  of  it  was  an  arbor  draped  all 
over  with  that  fragrant  darling  of  the  Caro- 
lina woods,  the  yellow  jasmine.  Within  this 
arbor,  framed,  as  it  were,  by  the  green  tei.- 
drils  and  golden  bells,  sat  a  young  girl,  busily 
engaged  in  drawing,  at  a  small  table.     Seen 


142 


BERNARD'S   INVENTION. 


under  favorable  circumstances,  she  might  have 
been,  and  no  doubt  was,  exceedingly  pretty ; 
but  just  now  she  looked  pale  and  weary ;  her 
dress  was  careless;  her  hair  was  hastily 
pushed  back,  and  gathered  in  a  rough,  loose 
knot  behind ;  while  her  forehead  was  drawn 
into  a  frown  that  ill  became  its  pearly  white- 
ness. On  the  table  before  her  lay  open  a  case 
of  mathematical-drawing  instruments,  and  it 
was  with  these  that  she  worked,  tracing  out 
intricate  designs  of  an  apparently  mechanical 
character  on  a  large  sheet  of  card-board,  and 
now  and  then  noting  down  certain  numerical 
results  on  a  sheet  of  paper  near  at  hand.  It 
was  weary  work,  and  when,  at  last,  she  glanced 
up,  and  saw  that  it  was  twelve  o'clock,  she 
threw  down  her  pencil  with  an  air  of  unmis- 
takable relief. 

"  I  must  go  and  see  about  dinner,"  she 
said,  half  aloud  ;  and,  as  she  said  it,  she  took 
up  a  large  portfolio  from  the  ground  beside 
her  chair,  and  began  to  put  the  drawing  away. 
While  she  was  thus  occupied,  a  clear,  fresh 
voice  suddenly  called,  "  Annie  !  "  A  quick, 
ringing  step  sounded  on  the  gravel  walk,  and, 
round  a  group  of  shrubs  that  formed  a  perfect 
cloud  of  tmted  bloom,  a  young  man  of  the 
most  frank  and  cheery  presence  imaginable 
came  into  sight.  He  was  not  particularly 
handsome,  but  he  had  a  graceful,  well-knit 
figure,  and  an  open,  pleasant  face,  while  his 
whole  manner  diffused  such  an  air  of  moral 
sunshine  that  it  was  no  wonder  the  gloom 
parted  and  fled  from  the  girl's  brow  at  once. 

"  Louis  !  "  she  cried,  eagerly  ;  and  then 
smiled,  and  added,  in  a  tone  of  absurdly- 
weak  reproof,  "  You  provoking  boy !  how  you 
startled  me  !  What  on  earth  brings  you  here 
at  this  hour  of  the  day  ?  " 

"  Kiss  me,  pretty  one,  and  I'll  tell  you," 
said  the  new-comer,  gayly.  Then,  having 
taken  this  favor,  without  incurring  any  rebuke 
thereby,  he  added,  more  gravely :  "  Annie, 
darling,  congratulate  me — my  fortune  is  made  I 
If  your  father  agrees,  we  can  be  married  this 
day  two  months."  * 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Annie,  with  a  gasp  ;  but  the 
color  came  into  her  face,  and  made  her  abso- 
lutely lovely.  "  0  Louis !  bow  ?  what  ?  Tell 
me  what  you  mean — tell  me  all  about  it !  " 

The  young  man  kissed  her  again.  He  was 
evidently  glowing  with  triumph,  and  found  it 
hard  to  contain  hia  exultatioH  within  moderate 
bounds. 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say,"  he  answered  ; 


"  but,  as  for  telling  you  all  about  it,  I  can't  do 
that,  dearest,  for  I  am  bound  to  secrecy.  I 
can  only  tell  you  this  :  my  fortune — our  for- 
tune— is  made,  and  you  are  mine." 

"  I  was  always  that ! "  she  cried,  with 
something  between  a  laugh  and  a  sob.  "  But, 
surely,  Louis,  you  can  tell  me  a  little  more 
than  this.  If  it  is  to  be  our  fortune,  surely  I 
have  a  right  to  know  how  it  is  made." 

"  Can't  you  trust  me,  Annie  ?  " 

"  Trust  you  !  Indeed,  yes — ever  and  al- 
ways. But,  then,  you  know  we  are  pledged 
not  to  keep  any  secrets  from  each  other." 

"  Only  such  as  honor  demands ;  and  this  is 
a  case  of  honor.  However,  I  can  tell  you  a 
little,  the  general  outline  of  the  matter.  Here, 
let  us  sit  down  and  talk  at  our  leisure.  Now, 
that  is  better.  Well,  to  begin  rather  far  from 
the  point,  and  not  so  far  either,  you  know  I 
have  always  had  a  decided  mechanical  talent, 
and,  thanks  to  your  father's  kindness,  I  have 
acquired  some  aptitude  in  turning  it  to  ac- 
count." 

"  Yes,"  said  Annie,  with  a  rueful  glance 
at  the  portfolio  ;  "  yes,  I  know  you  have,  and 
1  know  you  will  end  by  being  as  bad  as  he  is, 
if  you  do  not  stop  yourself  in  time." 

"  Stop  myself ! "  repeated  the  young  man, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Why,  little  simpleton,  the  sci- 
ence of  mechanics  is  the  lever  of  the  world 
nowadays,  and  in  all  the  world  there  is  no  bet- 
ter or  more  direct  road  to  fortune  than  that 
which  it  opens.  If  we  are  married  two  months 
hence,  it  will  be  thanks  to  mechanics." 

The  girl's  face  fell  a  little  ;  but  she  did  not 
utter  any  thing,  excepting  the  simple  inter- 
rogative— 

"How?" 

"  By  means  of  a  great  invention,"  an- 
swered the  young  man,  with  color  rising  to 
his  face,  and  light  flashing  in  his  eyes — "  an 
invention  which  will  be  the  greatest  since 
steam,  and  which  will  go  far  to  revolutionize 
the  whole  system  of  mechanics,  as  known  to 
the  world  at  present.  I  wish  I  could  show  it 
to  you,  Annie  darling  ;  I  wish  I  could  tell  you. 
— But  what  is  the  matter  ?  Why  do  you  look 
at  me  as  if — as  if  you  were  disappointed  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  disappointed  ! "  cried  the 
girl ;  and,  before  her  lover  knew  what  she  was 
about,  she  had  laid  her  head  down  on  the  table 
and  was  sobbing  bitterly.  Poor  things  !  It 
was  hard  on  both  of  them.  Hard  on  the  tri- 
umphant bearer  of  good  news  to  see  it  so  re- 
ceived.    Harder  still  on  the  girl  who  had  been 


»m«^'fe- 


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«^ 


BERXARD'S  IXVEXTIOX. 


143 


so  flushed  with  hope  to  have  it  dashed  by  that 
word,  to  her,  of  fatal  omen — "  invention." 

"  I  thought  you  meant  something  real — 
something  to  be  relied  on,"  she  sobbed.  "  0 
Louis,  how  could  you  disappoint  me  so  cruel- 
ly !  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  so  very  sorry,  that 
this  fever — God  Ivnows  I  am  almost  tempted 
to  call  it  this  madness — has  seized  you,  too  ! 
Louis,  for  Heaven's  sake  put  it  from  you ! 
Trust  to  the  steady  results  of  honest  labor, 
and  not  to  these  wild  schemes  of  a  fortune  to 
be  made  at  one  stroke.  Look  at  my  father ! 
let  him  be  a  warning  to  you.  See  how  his 
life  hag  been  spent  in  the  service  of  this 
wretched  science — how  many  inventions,  that 
were  to  benefit  the  world,  he  has  made — and 
where  and  how  he  is  to-day !  Oli,  I  had  so 
hoped  that  with  you  I  should  be  free  from  this 
weary  toil  that  comes  to  nothing,  this  eager 
counting  on  dreams  that  are  shadowy  as  air ! 
And  now— Louis,  Louis,  you  will  break  my 
heart ! " 

"  Dear  love,  I  hope  not,"  said  Louis,  half 
concerned,  half  amused.  "  You  don't  appre- 
ciate your  father,  Annie.  You  don't  know 
what  a  great  man  he  is — what  a  great  man  he 
yet  will  be  in  the  face  of  that  world  which  has 
treated  him  as  from  the  beginning  it  has  al- 
ways treated  genius — has  robbed  him,  and 
laughed  at  him,  and  refused  to  hear  him ! 
But  it  will  hear  him  yet.  There  never  was  a 
great  mind  that  did  not  have  to  pass  through 
this  ordeal ;  there  never  was  a  great  discovery 
that  was  not  met  by  this  opposition ;  there 
never  was  a  great  achievement  that  did  not 
have  to  triumph  over  these  difficulties.  It 
has  been  hard  on  you,  my  poor  pet ;  but  I 
hope  the  hardest  is  over  at  last.  Apart  from 
my  good  fortune,  your  father  tells  me  that  he 
is  working  on  an  invention,  which  he  thinks 
the  greatest  he  has  ever  made,  and  the  patent- 
right  of  which  he  does  not  mean  to  put  out 
of  his  own  hands." 

"  Yes,  he  is  working  at  it,"  said  the  girl, 
wearily,  and  once  more  she  glanced  at  the 
portfolio.  "  I  have  been  makmg  out  some  of 
the  drawings,"  she  added  ;  "  but  he  forbade 
me  to  show  them,  even  to  you.  He  has  been 
robbed  so  often,  that  he  has  grown  very  sus- 
picious now.  Sometimes,  I  think  he  is  reluc- 
tant to  trust  even  me.  0  Louis,  it  is  so  sad  ! 
And  to  think  that  you  have  started  on  the 
same  path !  " 

"  I  have  only  made  a  beginning,  dear,  and 
as  for  my  being  a  great  inventor,  you  may  set 


your  mind  at  rest  on  that  point.  Nature  did 
not  favor  me  with  the  rare  gift  of  original 
conception.  I  can  only  work  out  other  men's 
thoughts,  and  sometimes  bring  them  to  a 
practical  issue.  This  is  all  that  I  have  done 
now.  A  gentleman,  a  friend  of  mine — I  can- 
not tell  you  his  name,  because  he  desires  that 
it  may  be  kept  secret — conceived  a  new  idea 
in  mechanics,  but,  lacking  practical  knowl- 
edge of  the  science,  he  could  not  work  it  out 
in  practical  form.  So  he  brought  a  rough 
draught  of  the  invention  to  me,  and  told  me 
that,  if  I  could  perfect  it,  I  might  take  out 
the  patent,  and  share  half  the  profits.  I  saw 
at  once  what  a  magnificent  thing  it  would  be 
if  it  could  be  perfected  ;  so  I  fell  into  the  idea 
forthwith,  and  went  to  work.  0  Annie,  how 
I  worked  !  I  saw  fortune  and  you  before  me, 
and  I  never  drew  rein  night  or  day.  But, 
after  a  while,  the  inventor's  fever  came  over 
me,  and  the  fascination  of  the  science  overtook 
me.  Then  I  forgot  all  about  fortune,  I  even 
forgot  all  about  you,  and  worked  on  and  on, 
only  that  I  might  reach  the  result  which 
seemed  ever  before  me  and  yet  ever  eluding 
me.  It  eluded  me  for  a  long  time,  and  no  one 
but  an  inventor  can  imagine  the  fever  in 
which  I  Uved  during  that  time.  Waking  or 
sleeping,  I  thought  of  nothing  else  —  saw 
nothing  else ;  and  when,  at  last,  one  day  the 
solution  of  my  difiSculties  came  to  me  hke  a 
flash  of  inspiration,  I  shouted  until  my  neigh- 
bors thought  that  I  was  mad.  I  wanted  then 
to  throw  down  pencil  and  paper  and  rush  to 
you  ;  but  Mr. — ,  I  mean  the  original  inventor, 
held  me  bound  to  absolute  secrecy,  and  he  did 
not  relax  this  requirement  even  when  all  the 
specifications  were  made  out  and  forwarded  to 
the  Patent-OflSce.  It  was  not  until  this  morn- 
ing, when  he  came  and  told  me  that  the  patent 
was  finally  issued,  that  he  also  told  me  I  might 
announce  the  fact  to  my  friends,  provided  I 
didn't  divulge  his  name.  Heaven  only  knows 
why  he  should  wish  to  give  me  all  the  credit, 
as  well  as  half  the  profits ;  but  one  thing  is 
certain,  my  darling — our  fortune  is  made,  and 
you  are  mine  !  " 

He  caught  the  giil  in  his  arms  at  the  last 
words,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again,  while 
she  could  only  lay  her  head  down  on  his  shoul- 
der and  indulge  in  an  hysterical  combination 
of  laughter  and  tears. 

"  I  am  happy,  Louis,  and  grateful — oh, 
so  grateful !  "  she  said,  as  well  as  the  laughter 
and  tears  aforesaid  would  allow ;  "  but,  dear 


144 


BERNARD'S  INVENTION. 


love,  I  shouia  be  still  more  happy,  still  more 
grateful,  if  the  fortune  had  come  to  you  in  any 
other  way.  It  seems  to  me  like  gambling- 
like  something  that  means  prosperity  for  a 
little  while,  but  ruin  in  the  end.  I  may  be 
very  foolish,  but  that  is  the  way  it  seems  to 
me,  and  then— 0  Louis,  I  feel  sure  that,  in 
some  way  or  other,  it  will  bring  us  ill-luck !  " 

Louis  smiled  at  this ;  but  he  did  not  at- 
tempt any  thing  like  reason  in  reply.  On  the 
contrary,  he  changed  the  subject,  and  asked 
the  foreboding  girl  if  her  father  was  at  home. 
'•  I  did  not  see  him  as  I  came  through  the 
house,"  he  said  ;  "  and  I  am  on  thorns  until  I 
tell  him  my  good  luck,  and  hear  him  assure 
me  that  I  may  take  you  as  soon  as  I  please." 

"  He  is  not  likely  to  give  you  that  assur- 
ance to-day,"  said  she,  nodding  archly, 

"  Is  he  not  ?     Well,  let  us  go  and  see." 

They  went  accordingly,  sauntering  side  by 
side  down  the  garden-paths  bordered  with 
rows  of  tall  box,  and  enlivened  here  and 
there  by  fragrant  lilacs  and  sweet  purple  wis- 
teria, until  they  reached  the  latticed  piazza. 
From  this  they  ontore'd  a  narrow,  dark  pas- 
sage, made  still  darker  from  the  fact  of  the 
front  door  being  closed,  and  thence  passed 
into  a  room  that  resembled  an  amateur  ma- 
chine-shop more  than  any  thing  else.  Mathe- 
matical and  mechanical  designs  lined  the 
walls ;  models,  in  miniature,  of  all  machines, 
in  connection  with  which  steam  has  ever  been 
used  as  a  motive  power,  occupied  every  avail- 
able space — exceptmg  that  which  was  filled 
by  a  large  locked  cabinet — and  in  the  midst 
of  this  apparent  disorder  stood  a  table,  littered 
over  with  paper  and  drawing-materials.  An- 
nie looked  round  the  apartment  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  Papa  is  not  here,"  she  said.  "  You  must 
remain  on  thorns  a  little  longer,  Louis." 

"  May  he  not  be  in  the  house  some- 
where ?  " 

"  No,  he  has  gone  out.  Don't  you  see  his 
hat  is  missing  ?  He  has  gone  to  the  machine- 
shops,  I  am  sure.  He  often  goes  there  for 
what  he  calls  '  practical  suggestions.'  Come, 
let  us  sit  on  the  piazza.  This  room  is  so  dark 
and  cold  that  it  makes  me  shiver." 

IL 

Very  much  like  the  fortunes  of  the  old 
house  were  the  fortunes  of  the  man  who  at 
present  inhabited  it.  He  was  a  gentleman  of 
good  descent,  as  his  name — the  noble  Scottish 


name  of  Gordon — amply  testified  ;  and  he  had 
once  possessed  a  more  than  moderate  amount 
of  wealth  ;  but,  having  been  blessed,  or  rather 
cursed,  with  the  gift  of  invention,  this  wealth 
had  melted  away  to  satisfy  the  insatiate  de- 
mands of  scientific  experiment,  until  little  or 
none  of  it  remained.  After  his  fortune  was 
gone,  he  soon  exhausted  the  long-suffering  pa- 
tience of  his  friends.  They  were  all  practical, 
worldly-wise  people,  and,  regarding  him  as  a 
half-mad  visionary,  troubled  themselves  very 
little  about  the  manner  in  which  they  expressed 
this  opinion.  Naturally  enough,  Mr.  Gordon 
resented  its  expression,  and,  naturally  also,  a 
formal  break  was  the  result.  Being  a  widower 
with  only  one  child,  he  took  this  child,  and 
the  yet  dearer  children  of  his  brain — his  in- 
ventions— and  went  forth  into  the  world  to 
conquer  fortune.  Instead  of  conquering,  how- 
ever, he  was  speedily  conquered.  Men  laughed 
at  his  inventions,  and  then  stole  them  ;  patent- 
rights,  of  his  own  discoveries,  were  taken  out 
before  his  eyes ;  and  he  fell  a  victim  to  the 
countless  modes  of  swindle  and  legal  robbery 
that,  from  first  to  last,  lie  in  wait  for  the  in- 
ventor, and  filch  from  him  both  the  glory  and 
the  profit  he  has  toiled  to  gain.     After  a  time, 

he  drifted  to  \V ,  and  became  an  inmate 

of  the  rambling  old  house  already  described. 
Here  he  lived  an  eremite  sort  of  existence, 
working  with  feverish  energy  at  an  invention, 
which  was  to  revolutionize  the  whole  system 
of  mechanics,  and  make  not  one,  but  a  dozen 
fortunes  for  himself.  Here,  also,  he  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Louis  Bernard,  a  young  civil 
engineer  of  unusual  promise  and  talent.  De- 
spite this  promise  and  talent,  however,  the 
young  man  was  poor  as  a  church  mouse.  But, 
in  Mr.  Gordon's  eyes,  this  fact  was  any  thing 
but  a  disadvantage.  He  was  so  very  eccen- 
tric— so  very  crazy,  his  friends  said — that  he 
looked  upon  poverty  somewhat  in  the  light 
of  a  badge  of  merit ;  and,  when  he  found  that 
a  love-affair  was  developing  between  his  pretty 
Annie  and  young  Bernard,  instead  of  turning 
the  penniless  suitor  out-of-doors,  he  told  him 
that  he  might  marry  the  maiden  as  soon  as 
he  could  support  her  in  a  respectable  manner. 
Encouraged  in  this  way,  the  love-affair  be- 
came an  authorized  engagement,  and  was  of 
six  months'  standing  on  that  bright  April 
morning  when  our  story  opened. 

Now,  while  the  two  lovers  sat  on  the  trel- 
lisod  piazza,  and,  with  the  glory  of  sunlight 
and  fragrance  of  flowers    around   them,  laid 


BERNARD'S  INVENTION. 


145 


countless  plans  for  their  blissful  future,  Mr. 
Gordon,  as  his  daughter  had  rightly  surmised, 
was  peering  in  and  out  among  the  machinery 
of  the  engine  and  car-shops,  located  near  his 
bouse.  These  car-shops  formed  quite  a  large 
establishment,  for  the  railroad,  to  which  they 
belonged,  was  very  flourishing,  and  it  was 
here  that  most  of  its  rolling-stock  was  con- 
structed. Consequently,  the  latest  improve- 
ments in  machinery  were  always  to  be  found 
here,  and  consequently,  also,  it  was  a  great 
resort  of  Mr.  Gordon's.  The  employes  knew 
him  well,  and,  although  they  considered  him 
a  little  "  touched,"  liked  him  amazingly.  The 
authorities,  however,  looked  at  him  askance, 
and  it  was  only  the  master-machinist  who  ever 
went  out  of  his  way  to  do  him  a  kindness,  or 
show  him  a  civility. 

This  man,  though  only  thirty-five,  ranked 
high  in  his  calling,  and  had  entire  control  of 
the  works.  His  name  was  Liddell ;  he  was 
gentlemanly,  though  not  a  gentleman,  and  had 
for  some  time  assiduously  cultivated  Mr.  Gor- 
don's acquaintance.  To  accomplish  this  was 
not  difficult,  since  there  was  that  best  possible 
foundation  for  acquaintanceship,  a  common 
taste,  between  them.  But  the  most  natural 
things  frequently  excite  gossip  in  a  country- 
town  ;  and  unscrupulous  news-mongers  did 
not  hesitate  to  say  that  the  bright  eyes  of 
Annie  Gordon  possessed  more  attraction  to 
the  master-machinist  than  did  her  father's 
discourses  on  cog-wheels  and  piston-rods. 
However  that  might  be,  Mr.  Liddell  was  one 
of  the  few  visitors  who  ever  crossed  the  thresh- 
old of  the  old  house ;  and,  in  a  quiet  way, 
both  father  and  daughter  liked  him  cordially. 

On  this  morning,  as  Mr.  Gordon  stood  at- 
tentively regarding  the  action  of  a  certain  new- 
fangled cylinder,  the  master-machinist  came 
out  of  his  ofllce  and  walked  up  to  him. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Gordon,"  said 
he,  after  the  first  salutations  were  exchanged, 
"  to  congratulate  you  on  young  Bernard's  good 
luck.  "What  a  fortunate  thing  it  is  for  him  ! 
— and  I  suppose  I  may  congratulate  Miss  An- 
nie, too." 

Mr.  Gordon  looked  up,  and,  with  his  head 
full  of  the  cylinder,  did  not  understand  the 
dvift  of  this  remark. 

"  Bernard's  good  luck  ! "  he  repeated.  "  I 
have  not  heard  of  any  special  luck  of  his. 
What  has  he  fallen  upon  ?  A  good  position  ?  " 

"Something  much  better  than  a  good  po- 
sition," answered  Liddell,  shrugging  his  shoul- 


ders. "  I  wonder  you  have  not  heard — every- 
body is  full  of  it — he  has  made  a  fortune  by  a 
patent." 

"  A  fortime  ! — by  a  patent !  " 

"  AXortime,  undoubtedly,  and  by  a  patent. 
Why,  I  am  astonished  you  don't  know  any 
thing  about  it.  I  supposed,  of  course,  Ber- 
nard had  been  consulting  you  all  this  time. 
And  in  fact  I  thought — I  felt  sure — that  you 
had  a  hand  in  tlie  matter.  The  idea  looks  like 
you — at  least  I  fancied  as  much." 

"  What  is  the  idea  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gordon, 
all  in  a  fever,  immediately.  "  The  scamp  has 
told  me  nothing  whatever  about  it — very  shab- 
by of  him,  I  think !  I  always  knew  he  had 
sense,  however — I  always  knew  he  would 
make  his  fortune  sooner  or  later — only  I  did 
not  look  for  it  quite  so  soon!  What  is  the 
idea,  Mr.  Liddell?  Bless  my  soul ! — to  think 
of  a  patent !  " 

"  The  idea  is  something  quite  new,  at  least 
in  machinery,"  said  Liddell.  "  I  don't  know 
that  I  can  explain  it — I'm  not  a  good  hand  at 
description — but  if  you'll  step  into  my  office  I 
can  show  you  a  design  that  Bernard  made  out 
to  show  me  what  it  was,  and  how  it  worked. 
That  fellow  has  a  most  capital  head." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  assenting  most 
sincerely  about  the  head ;  but  he  hesitated, 
and  evidently  did  not  like  to  inspect  the  de- 
sign. "  K  Bernard  had  wished  me  to  see  it — " 
he  began,  with  some  dignity,  but  Liddell  in- 
terrupted him. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  laugh, 
"  don't  you  see  why  Bernard  said  nothing  to 
you  about  it  ?  He  was  afraid  the  thing  might 
not  succeed,  and  be  wanted  to  spring  a  success 
and  not  a  failure  upon  you.  No  doubt  he  is 
at  your  house  now,  telling  the  good  news  to 
Miss  Annie,  and,  meanwhile,  where  is  the  harm 
of  taking  a  look  at  the  design  ?  The  patent 
being  all  safe,  anybody  and  everybody  may 
see  it." 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  harm,"  said  Mr. 
Gordon ;  and,  the  temptation  being  too  strong 
for  his  dignity  to  resist,  he  forsook  the  cylin- 
der, and  followed  the  machinist  to  his  office. 

This  office  was  a  small  box,  with  a  table, 
two  chairs,  and  a  desk,  in  it.  Placing  one  of 
the  chairs  beside  the  table,  for  his  visitor, 
Liddell  opened  the  desk  and  busied  himself  in 
extracting  a  particular  paper  from  a  crowded 
pigeon-hole.  After  some  trouble,  this  was  ac- 
complished, and  then  he  unfolded  and  spread 
it  out — a  large  sheet  covered  with  India-ink 


146 


BEKNARD'S   INVENTION. 


designs— before   the   eyes   of  the  .eager  in- 
ventor. 

The  latter  rose  and  bent  forward — trem- 
bling with  excitement.  Any  thing  that  re- 
lated to  inventions  or  patents  interested  him 
deeply,  but  the  present  matter  came  home  to 
him  almost  as  if  it  had  been  one  of  his  own. 
Bernard's  invention  !  He  was  eager  to  see 
what  the  boy  had  managed  to  accomplish  ;  so 
eager,  indeed,  that  for  a  moment  this  very 
eagerness  defeated  its  own  object.  The  paper 
swam  before  his  eyes,  the  diagrams  danced  to 
and  fro,  and  he  saw  nothing.  After  a  second, 
however,  the  mist  cleared,  and  then,  as  his 
glance  fell  on  the  principal  design,  the  idea 
showed  itself  clear  and  distinct.  He  saw  it, 
caught  it,  suddenly  gasped,  and  fell  back  into 
his  chair  almost  fainting. 

Liddell,  who  was  looking  at  him,  was  seri- 
ously alarmed,  for  he  thought  he  had  at  least 
a  case  of  apoplexy  on  his  hands.  Seizing 
some  water  that  chanced  to  be  near  by,  he 
sprinkled  it  over  the  pallid  face,  and,  snatch- 
ing up  a  newspaper,  fanned  the  swooning  man 
vigorously,  loosening  his  cravat  at  the  same 
time.  In  a  few  minutes  these  remedies  had 
their  due  effect.  Mr.  Gordon  recovered  him- 
self, looked  up,  and  finally  spoke — with  a 
strangely-pitiful  quaver  in  his  voice  : 

"  Let  me  see  it  again.  I — I  must  have 
been  mistaken." 

"  My  dear  sir,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  cried 
Liddell.     "  Is  there  any  thing — " 

"  The  design  !  the  design  ! "  interrupted 
the  inventor,  with  feverish  energy.  "  My 
God,  man !  don't  talk  to  me  when  I  am  al- 
most mad  !     Show  it  to  me  instantly  ! " 

The  tone  was  so  peremptory  that  the  other 
obeyed  at  once.  He  held  it  up,  and  Mr.  Gor- 
don leaned  forward,  examining  it  intently. 
He  said  nothing ;  but  the  naturally  pale  hue 
of  his  complexion  grew  almost  ashy,  and  his 
hands  clasped  and  unclasped  themselves  con- 
vulsively, while  more  than  once  his  lips  quiv- 
ered as  if  with  unspoken  words.  At  last  he 
motioned  it  away,  and  rising,  without  a  syl- 
lable, tottered,  rather  than  walked,  to  the 
door.  By  this  time,  however,  Liddell  had 
somewhat  recovered  from  his  first  surprise, 
and  thought  it  time  to  interfere ;  so  he  fol- 
lowed and  caught  his  arm. 

"  Mr.  Gordon,  pray  sit  down,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  not  fit  to  go  out  in  this  state.  Take 
some  water — try  to  compose  yourself — Good 
Heavens,  sir  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 


"  Nothing  is  the  matter,"  said  Mr.  Gordon, 
faintly,  but  he  sat  down  and  took  the  water — 
indeed,  it  was  a  matter  of  necessity  to  do  so. 
"  Nothing  is  the  matter,"  he  repeated,  wearily ; 
adding  in  a  lower  tone — "  nothing — nothing 
but  the  old  story," 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  vexed  with  Bernard 
for  not  letting  you  know.     I  assure  you — " 

Something  in  the  face  before  him  stopped 
the  machinist  at  this  point.  Involuntarily  he 
ceased  speaking,  and  said  nothing,  even  when, 
after  several  minutes  had  elapsed,  Mr.  Gordon 
rose  and  silently  left  the  office. 

He  walked  down  the  street  toward  his  own 
house  like  one  stunned.  The  people  who  met 
him  looked  in  his  face,  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders, and  said  to  each  other,  "The  man  grows 
more  crazy  every  day."  But  when  he  reached 
home,  when  he  opened  and  closed  the  front- 
door, crossed  the  passage  and  stood  in  his 
o^Ti  room,  this  unreal  quietude  gave  way.  He 
looked  round  on  the  darlings  of  his  heart,  the 
mute  children  of  his  brain  ;  he  gazed  pitifully 
at  that  jealously-locked  cabinet,  where  the 
toil  of  so  many  weary  months,  of  anxious 
days,  and  sleepless  nights,  was  drawing  to  a 
successful  issue  ;  he  glanced  at  the  table 
where  long  lines  of  abstruse  calculation  met 
his  eye ;  then,  with  one  deep  groan,  he  sank 
into  a  seat,  buried  his  face  from  the  light,  and 
sat  a  picture  of  stricken  desolation. 

In  this  state  his  daughter  found  him,  when 
she  entered,  followed  by  her  lover.  Her  eyes 
were  so  dazzled  by  the  bright  sunshine,  from 
which  she  had  come,  that  for  a  moment  she 
did  not  see  the  relaxed  figure  bent  forward 
over  the  useless  papers ;  but  the  next  instant 
she  caught  sight  of  it,  and  rushed  forward, 
with  her  whole  heart  in  her  voice. 

"  Papa  !  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Mr.  Gordon  raised  his  face,  and  the  more 
sight  of  it  seemed  to  petrify  her,  for  she 
stopped  suddenly,  and  stood  motionless.  Nev- 
er in  all  her  life  before  had  she  seen  a  face  so 
set  and  bloodless,  and  never  had  she  met 
such  a  look  as  gleamed  on  her  now  from  her 
father's  eyes.  "  Papa !  "  she  cried  again,  with 
a  startled  appeal  in  her  voice — and  as  she 
paused  Bernard  spoke. 

"  Something  has  happened,  Mr.  Gordon  I 
Something  is  the  matter !  What  is  it  ?  "  he 
said,  hastily. 

In  a  moment,  as  it  were,  the  inventor  was 
himself — indeed,  more  than  himself.  Few 
people  who  knew  the  abstracted  devotee  of 


/ 


BERNARD'S   INVENTION. 


147 


science,  the  pale  scholar  whose  mind  was 
habitually  absent  from  the  earth  he  trod, 
would  have  recognized  him  in  the  man  who 
faced  around  upon  the  speaker,  his  face  glow- 
ing with  passionate  energy,  and  his  eyes  flash- 
ing with  indignant  fire. 

"  Yoti  ask  me  that !  "  he  said.  "  You 
dare  to  enter  my  room,  side  by  side  with  my 
daughter,  and  speak  to  me — to  me  whom  you 
have  so  shamelessly  betrayed  ?  Your  audaci- 
ty almost  equals  your  villany,  and  I  have  but 
one  answer  for  you — leave  my  house  !  " 

There  is  no  exaggeration  in  saying  that  if 
a  thunder-bolt  from  heaven  had  rent  the  solid 
walls  asunder,  neither  Bernard  nor  Annie 
could  have  been  more  confounded  than  by 
this  unexpected  and  unprecedented  outbreak. 
"  Oh,  my  poor  father  !  "  cried  the  girl,  under 
her  breath,  for  she  thought  the  veritable  mad- 
ness had  come  at  last ;  but  the  young  man, 
after  one  gasp  of  astonishment,  saw  that  there 
was  nothing  of  insanity  in  the  steady  face 
fronting  him,  and,  as  well  as  he  could  com- 
mand himself,  answered : 

"  I  don't  understand  this.  I  am  so  little 
conscious  of  having  offended  you,  that  I  must 
ask  you  to  be  more  explicit.  What  have  I 
done  ?  "What  do  you  mean  by  accusing  me 
of  villany — by  saying  that  I  have  betrayed 
you  ?  " 

"  Answer  me  one  question,"  said  the  elder 
man,  sternly.  "  Have  you  not  patented  an  in- 
vention ? " 

"  An  invention  !"  Bernard  started  ;  then 
added  more  quietly,  "  I  came  this  morning  to 
tell  you  that  I  had  done  so." 

"  To  tell  me  ! "  It  is  impossible  for  words 
to  express  the  indignant  scorn  that  was  in 
those  three  words — "  To  tell  me  !  Well,  in 
return,  I  will  tcW  i/ou  that  you  are  a  thief! " 

"  Bapa ! " 

It  was  Annie's  voice  that  rang  through  the 
room  with  this  cry  of  indignant  reproach,  but, 
for  a  full  minute,  Bernard  made  neither  sound 
nor  movement.  When  those  bitter  words  fell 
on  his  ear,  he  took  one  quick,  unconscious 
step  forward ;  but  the  next  he  remembered 
himself,  and  fell  back.  In  the  mimite  that 
followed,  he  fought  a  fierce  fight  for  self-con- 
trol, and  gained  the  victory.  When  at  last  he 
spoke,  the  veins  were  standing  out  on  his  fore- 
head like  knotted  cords,  but  his  voice  was 
steady  and  firm. 

"I  have  only  one  reply  to  make,  sir — sub- 
stantiate the  charge." 


"  That  is  easy  enough  to  do,  if  you  will  be 
kind  enough  to  describe  the  nature  of  your  in- 
vention." 

Coldly  and  concisely  the  young  man  com- 
plied with  the  request.  He  described  the  na- 
ture of  the  conception  which  he  had  worked 
out  to  a  successful  result,  and  briefly  added 
the  explanation  which  he  had  already  made 
to  Annie,  a  statement  that  the  original  inven- 
tion was  not  his  own,  and  an  account  of  the 
ditficulty  he  had  encountered  in  bringing  it  to 
practical  operation.  Mr.  Gordon  heard  him 
out,  without  interruption  of  any  kind,  and 
was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said 
frigidly  : 

"Do  you  decline  to  give  the  name  of  the 
original  inventor  ? " 

"  I  have  no  option  but  to  decline,  so  long 
as  he  chooses  to  hold  me  bound  to  secrecy." 

"Is  he  likely  to  hold  you  bound  to  se- 
crecy if  your  good  name  is  at  stake  in  the 
matter  ?  " 

The  young  man  threw  his  head  back 
haughtily. 

"My  good  name  is  not  likely  to  be  at 
stake,  sir,  with  any  one  who  knows  me." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  said  the  other,  with  a  short, 
hard  laugh.  "  Then  it  is  only  because  men 
will  believe  your  word  in  preference  to  that 
of  the  mad  old  inventor.  Perhaps  you  count- 
ed upon  this,  however.  If  so,  the  calculation 
did  you  credit." 

"  Papa  !  " — Annie  broke  in,  with  a  wail, 
"  why  do  you  say  such  cruel  things  ?  Louis 
does  not  understand  them,  and  neither  do  I. 
Speak  plainly,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  Tell  him — 
tell  me — of  what  you  suspect  him." 

"  I  suspcd  him  of  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Gor- 
don, sternly ;  "  on  his  own  evidence  I  convict 
him  of  basely  stealing  my  invention,  the  inven- 
tion at  which  I  have  labored  so  long — the  in- 
vention which  was  dearer  to  me  than  you,  my 
child  of  flesh  and  blood — and  of  patenting  it 
for  his  own  use,  and  in  his  own  name." 

"Papa!" 

"  Look  at  him,"  said  the  inventor,  rising 
and  pointing  with  an  almost  tragic  gesture  at 
the  young  man.  "  Look  at  him  !  Tell  me  if 
that  is  the  face  of  an  innocent  man." 

And  in  truth,  at  that  moment,  Bernard's 
face  was  scarcely  that  of  an  innocent  man. 
The  very  nature  of  the  accusation  had  stricken 
from  him  all  means  of  defence,  while  its  sud- 
denness so  completely  overwhelmed  him,  that 
he   stood  in  the   centre   of  the  floor,  a  pale. 


& 


% 


148 


BERNARD'S   INVENTION. 


silent  picture  of  what  seemed  detected  guilt. 
Not  so  thought  Annie,  however.  She  gave 
one  glance  at  his  face,  and  then  sprung  to  his 
side. 

"  Louis,  Louis,  dear  love,  don't  take  it  so  ! " 
she  cried.  "  He  docs  not  mean  it !  he  will  be 
sorry  for  it  yet. — Oh,  it  is  cruel ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, turning  round  upon  her  father.  "You 
outrage  him,  and  you  outrage  me !  Papa, 
papa,  how  can  you — how  could  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  have  a  share  in  it,  too,"  said 
the  inventor,  bitterly,  as  her  voice  broke  down 
in  tears.  "  I  was  a  fool  to  trust  you — to  trust 
anybody.  I  might  have  known  that  treachery 
and  robbery  would  be  the  end.  With  or  with- 
out your  connivance,  he  must  have  obtained 
the  design  from  you." 

"  From  me !  "  cried  the  girl,  with  a  startled 
gasp — for  she  had  not  expected  this.  Then 
she  turned  to  Bernard  and  held  out  her  hand. 
"0  Louis,  see  how  little  he  is  himself!  see 
how  little  he  means  it !  see  how  little  you  can 
resent  a  charge  in  which  I  am  included  ! " 

"  I  resent  it  only  thus  far,"  said  Bernard, 
looking  at  Mr.  Gordon.  "I  ask  now,  as  I 
asked  before,  to  hear  the  evidence  on  which  I 
am  condemned." 

"  You  shall  see  it,"  answered  the  other, 
briefly.  He  went  to  the  cabinet,  unlocked  the 
door,  and  took  out  a  large  portfolio.  Bring- 
ing this  to  the  table,  he  opened  it,  and  bade 
the  young  man  come  forward.  When  he 
came,  several  designs  were  spread  before  him. 
He  took  them  up,  one  by  one,  and  examined 
them  closely.  This  occupied  some  time,  and 
after  putting  down  the  last  one  he  still  re- 
mained silent — his  face  deadly  pale,  and  his 
eyes  bent  downward  in  deep  thought.  It  was 
only  when  Mr.  Gordon  asked  what  he  had  to 
say,  that  he  looked  up  and  spoke. 

"  I  have  only  to  say  this — that  Fate  is 
against  me,"  he  answered.  "  I  cannot  refute 
the  evidence  of  these  papers.  I  am,  indeed, 
astounded  at  it.  I  can  only  assert  my  own 
innocence — and  of  course  that  assertion  counts 
for  nothing  with  you.  I  do  not  believe  that 
the  man  who  applied  to  me  stole  the  inven- 
tion ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  he  is  a  man  of 
honor ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  he  had  no 
opportunity  to  do  so.  Therefore,  I  can  only 
believe  that  it  has  been  a  strange  coincidence 
of  thought.  God  knows  how  much  I  regret 
having  had  any  part  in  it ;  but  of  one  thing 
you  may  be  sure — until  of  your  own  accord 
you  retract  the  accusation  made  this  day,  I 


will  never  touch  one  cent  of  the  profits.  I 
have  not  much  hope  of  such  a  thing — but  the 
truth  may  come  to  light  some  day.  Until 
then,  sir,  I  return  you  many  thanks  for  your 
past  kindness,  and  bid  you  good-by.  Of  course, 
you  know  that  I  shall  not  enter  your  doors 
again.     Annie — darling — " 

His  voice  broke  down  here ;  but  he  held 
out  his  hands,  and  in  a  moment  Annie  came  to 
him  with  a  rush.  She  was  weeping  bitterly, 
and  in  the  midst  of  their  parting  embrace  only 
two  or  three  words  were  exchanged.  "  Don't 
forget  me !  "  sobbed  the  girl.  "  Trust  me !  " 
whispered  the  young  man,  and  that  was  all. 
Then  they  tore  themselves  apart,  and  Bernard 
went  hastily  out.  When  the  heavy  front-door 
closed  upon  him,  a  oitter  pang  shot  through  his 
heart.  He  was  drearily  conscious  that  it  was 
for  the  last  time. 

IIL 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  soft  October 
day,  when  Annie  Gordon  sat  in  the  garden 
quite  alone.  She  was  not  drawing,  or  reading, 
or  even  sewing,  though  some  of  the  latter  work 
lay  on  the  ground  by  her  side ;  but  she  sat 
quite  motionless  on  a  low  seat  under  a  brilliant 
crape-myrtle,  with  the  air  of  listless  languor 
which  is  always  so  sad  a  sight — especially  in 
a  young  person.  Her  hands  were  loosely 
clasped  in  her  lap,  and  her  eyes,  all  unheed- 
ing the  gorgeous  roses  blooming  near  by,  and 
scenting  the  air  with  their  fragrance,  were 
turned  to  the  western  sky,  where,  instead  of 
the  usual  glories,  a  long,  low  bank  of  violet 
cloud  had  received  the  sun.  She  did  not  even 
turn  when  a  step  sounded  on  the  path  behind 
her,  and  when,  with  his  head  bent  forward, 
and  his  hands  crossed  behind  his  back,  her 
father  slowly  came  into  sight.  He  was  ab- 
sorbed in  thought,  evidently,  and  did  not  see 
her  until  he  was  close  upon  her.  Then  he 
started  and  spoke  almost  sharply. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Annie  ?  I 
thought  you  said  that  you  were  going  to  see 
Mrs.  Holt  ?  " 

"  I  did  go,"  said  Annie,  in  a  tone  as  list- 
less as  her  attitude,  "  but  Mrs.  Holt  was  not 
at  home.  When  I  came  back  you  were  en- 
gaged with  Mr.  Liddell,  so  I  did  not  disturb 
you." 

"  You  might  have  come  in  to  see  Mr.  Lid- 
dell. His  visits  are  meant  for  you  as  much 
as,  or  more  than,  they  are  for  me." 

"  Are  they  ?  "  said  the  girl,  carelessly,  and 


BERNARD'S   INVENTION. 


149 


then  she  added,  "  I  should  be  sorry  to  think 
so." 

Her  father  fro-.vned  a  little.  "  Why  ?  "  he 
asked,  shortly. 

"  Because  —  oh,  papa,  surely  you  know 
why.  It  may  be  foolish  to  talk  of  such  a 
thing,  but  I  have  thought  once  or  twice  that 
Mr.  Liddell  admired  me — and  if  so,  I  would 
rather  that  he  never  came." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  if  he  asked  you 
to  marry  him,  you  would  refuse  him  ?  " 

"  I  hope  he  will  never  ask  me  ;  but,  if  he 
did,  I  should  be  obliged  to  refuse  him." 

"  And  why  ?  " 

"  0  papa,  what  a  question  !  "  cried  the 
girl,  with  her  languor  giving  way  at  once,  and 
her  bosom  rent  with  sobs.  "  Because  I  don't 
love  him  !  Because  I  shall  never,  never  love 
any  one  but  my  poor,  injured,  outcast,  ill- 
treated  Louis.  Don't — don't  mention  him  to 
me  again." 

*'  I  must  mention  him  to  you,"  said  Mr. 
Gordon,  and  as  he  said  it  he  sat  down  by  her 
side.  "  You  are  not  a  child,  Annie,"  he  went 
on.  "  You  are  old  enough  to  know  that  many 
things  have  to  be  done  in  this  world  which 
are  not  what  we  would  desire  for  ourselves  or 
others.  I  am  old  ;  I  am  broken  in  mind,  in 
health,  and  in  fortune.  What  will  become  of 
you  when  I  die  ?  " 

"  God  will  take  care  of  me." 

"  God  takes  care  of  those  who  care  for 
themselves.  God  will  not  work  a  miracle  to 
put  bread  into  your  mouth  or  a  roof  over  your 
head.  Many,  as  young  and  helpless  as  you, 
He  leaves  every  day  to  die  of  want  and  starva- 
tion. My  child,  you  must  do  something  for 
yourself — you  must  marry  the  man  who  has 
just  been  telling  me  how  much  he  loves 
you." 

"  Papa  !  " — she  gave  a  low  cry — "  papa, 
surely  you  will  not  ask  me  to  do  this  !  " 

"  You  must  do  it !  "  said  he,  beginning  to 
grow  excited.  "  Child,  child,  do  you  not  see 
that  I  cannot  last  much  longer,  and  then — 
what  will  become  of  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  sew  for  my  daily  bread,  sooner 
than  marry  one  man  when  I  love  another  !  " 

"Perhaps  you  will  wait  and  marry  the 
thief  who  robbed  me  ?  " 

"  Papa,  I  don't  deserve  this  !  " 

"  Marry  Liddell,  then.  He  is  a  good  fel- 
low. Let  me  see  you  safely  settled  before  I 
die — let  me  tell  him  when  he  comes  again  that 
he  may  take  you." 


"  Oh,  no,  no  !  " 

"  This  is  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Gordon. 
"  What  more  do  you  expect  than  he  offers  ? 
He  may  not  be  as  fine  a  gentleman  as  a  Gor- 
don has  a  right  to  marry  ;  but  we  are  poor — 
so  poor  that  our  social  equals  do  not  recog- 
nize our  existence ;  and  he  is  comparatively 
wealthy.  It  is  true  that  you  would  be  the 
richest  heiress  in  the  country,  if  my  inven- 
tions had  not  been  stolen  from  me,  but  now — 
Annie,  there  is  no  help  for  it.  You  must  mar- 
ry him." 

For  at  least  an  hour  the  discussion  went 
on  ;  but  it  came  to  no  more  definite  point  than 
this.  At  last  both  father  and  daughter  re- 
turned to  the  house  ;  and  then,  wearied  and 
exhausted,  Annie  went  up  to  her  own  room. 
She  felt  heartsick  and  hopeless  at  the  prospect 
before  her.  Not  that  her  resolution  was  at  all 
shaken,  or  that  she  had  any  fear  of  being 
eventually  forced  to  marry  Liddell ;  but  she 
knew  that  persistence  was  the  most  striking 
trait  of  her  father's  character,  and  she  also 
knew  that,  for  days  and  weeks  and  months  to 
come,  she  might  expect  to  hear  and  to  combat 
just  what  she  had  heard  and  combated  that 
evening.  There  can  hardly  be  a  prospect  more 
dismaying  than  this,  so  it  was  no  wonder  that 
she  sat  down  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  When  Bernard  went  away,  she  had 
felt  sure  that  he  would  soon  clear  himself,  and 
return  to  claim  her,  but  now  six  months  had 
gone  by,  and  the  stain  on  his  name  was  as 
dark  as  ever,  her  father  was  as  obstinately 
persuaded  of  his  guilt,  and  her  own  faith  and 
hope  began  to  waver.  "  He  has  forgotten  me !  " 
she  thought.  "  Why  should  I  not  forget  him, 
and  try  to  marry  some  one  else  ?  "  But  she 
had  hardly  asked  the  question  before  she 
veered  round  as  quickly  as  if  some  one  else 
had  proposed  it.  "  Even  if  I  never  see  him 
again,  I  will  be  true  to  him — and  true  to  my- 
self !  "  she  cried ;  then  burst  into  tears,  and 
settled  herself  to  sleep. 

Her  fears  proved  to  be  well  founded.  The 
next  day,  and  for  many  days  after,  Mr.  Gor- 
don rang  the  changes  on  Liddell's  suit  with 
an  obstinate  persistence  that  would  have 
shaken  any  resolution  less  thoroughly  ground- 
ed than  his  daughter's.  He  did  not  storm,  or 
threaten,  or  command — none  of  these  things 
were  according  to  his  nature — but  he  went 
over  the  same  position  again  and  again,  re- 
peated the  same  statements,  and  made  the 
same  predictions,  with  a  patience  that  was 


150 


BERXARD'S  INVENTION. 


both  marvellous  and  exhausting.  It  told  at 
last,  even  on  Annie.  She  was  driven  from 
point  to  point,  until,  from  sheer  inability  to 
continue  the  strife,  she  yielded  thus  far :  she 
aareed  that  Liddell  should  be  allowed  to  come 
to  the  house  on  trial,  that  there  was  to  be 
nothing  of  an  engagement,  but  that  she  was 
to  see  how  she  liked  him,  and,  if  she  found  it 
possible  (but  she  did  not  fail  to  protest  here 
that  she  was  sure  she  never  would  find  it  pos- 
sible), she  might  enter  into  an  engagement  at 
the  end  of  six  months.  On  this  anomalous 
sort  of  footing,  therefore,  the  master-ma- 
chinist was  received  in  the  Gordon  household  ; 
and,  since  he  had  sense  enough,  to  appreciate 
the  point  he  had  gained,  and  tact  enough  to 
use  his  advantage  well,  he  soon  became  a 
daily  visitor,  nor  was  it  long  before  he  per- 
ceived that  not  only  Mr.  Gordon,  but  Annie 
herself,  welcomed  him  with  pleasure. 

Matters  went  on  in  this  way  until  Christ- 
mas came.     The  gayety  of  the  season — and 

W was  very  gay — sent  not  even  an  echo 

into  the  dark  old  house  where  the  inventor 

and  his  daughter  lived,  and  yet  in  all  W 

there  was  not  a  fairer  face  than  Annie  Gor- 
don's, as  she  leaned  against  one  of  the  high, 
narrow  windows  on  Christmas  evening,  dressed 
in  her  best,  with  a  spray  of  holly  in  her  hair, 
watching  hstlessly  the  carriages  that  dashed 
by,  and  the  pedestrians  that  filled  the  streets. 
Liddell  had  dined  with  them,  and  his  present 
— one  of  the  costly  gift-books  of  the  season — 
lay  in  her  lap,  but  she  hardly  noticed  it.  Her 
languid  eyes  were  on  the  street,  when  sudden- 
ly something  occurred  that  took  all  the  lan- 
guor out  of  them.  A  figure  came  in  sight,  a 
face  looked  up  at  her,  and  she  knew — she 
would  have  known  in  a  thousand — Louis  Ber- 
nard !  There  was  no  time  for  a  word,  or  even 
a  gesture,  on  either  side.  There  was  only 
time  for  a  start,  a  gasp,  a  long,  hungry  look, 
and  all  was  over.  The  young  man  passed  on, 
and  the  girl,  turning  from  the  window,  came 
and  sat  down  by  the  fire.  Liddell  and  her 
father  were  deep  in  plans  of  machinery — it 
was  Mr.  Gordon's  only  mode  of  recreation — 
and  they  paid  little  attention  to  her,  so  she 
leaned  back  in  a  corner  quite  silent,  and  the 
stream  of  mechanical  talk  flowed  past  her  un- 
heeded. She  caught  a  fragment  of  it  now 
and  then,  but  it  bore  little  significance  to  her 
ear.  She  only  knew  that  there  was  some 
point  at  issue  between  her  father  and  the  ma- 
chinist— some  point  there  seemed  no  definite 


mode  of  settling — and  that  Liddell  proposed 
to  refer  to  some  book  of  designs  he  had. 

"  I  will  send  it  over  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"  You  can  examine  it  at  your  leisure,  and  per- 
haps Miss  Annie  will  be  good  enough  to  take 
care  of  it  for  me.  It  is  a  very  valuable  book, 
and  reliable,  too.  You  will  find  this  idea  of 
the  cylinder  developed  there  in  just  the  way  I 
have  described.  It  was  patented  by  Yerdot  in 
'49." 

"  I  don't  care  whom  it  was  patented  by,  it 
might  be  improved,"  said  Mr.  Gordon;  and 
so  the  discussion  went  on,  until  Liddell  ended 
it  by  asking  Annie  to  sing.  She  compUed  at 
once  ;  and,  after  a  reasonable  number  of  songs, 
he  rose  to  go.  He  had  suflicient  discretion 
not  to  obtrude  the  lover-like  part  of  his  role, 
and  not  to  pay  long  visits ;  and  his  reward 
was  Annie's  constantly-increasing  kindness. 
To-night  she  was  so  cold,  absent,  and  almost 
unapproachable,  that  he  thought  he  must 
have  offended  her,  for,  of  course,  he  could  not 
know  that  it  was  the  mere  sight  of  Bernard 
that  had  turned  her  heart  against  him. 

"  0  my  poor  love !  "  she  was  saying  to  her- 
self all  the  time,  even  when  he  came  up  to 
shake  hands  and  bid  her  good-night. 

"  Will  you  take  care  of  my  book  ?  "  he 
said,  again,  with  a  sort  of  wistful  look  in  her 
face.  "  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  would, 
and  if — and  if  you  would  make  one  of  your 
beautiful  drawings  for  me  of  Flate  XL.  ?  I 
want  it  for  constant  use,  and  I  had  rather 
have  one  of  your  drawings  than  the  finest  en- 
graving in  the  world.  "Will  you  do  it  for  me  ?  " 

"  Your  taste  is  very  bad,  to  prefer  my 
drawing  to  an  engraving,"  said  Annie,  grave- 
ly. "  But,  of  course,  I  will  do  it  for  you  if 
you  want  it.     I  have  nothing  else  to  do." 

"  Thank  you,  and  good-night." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  and  said  good- 
night ;  but  it  was  very  coldly,  and  he  went 
away  chilled,  thinking  almost  that  he  would 
never  succeed  in  winning  her.  As  for  Annie, 
she  went  up-stairs  and  cried  for  an  hour  or 
two  before  she  sank  to  sleep.  Weeping  had 
latterly  become  quite  a  favorite  amusement 
of  hers,  and  the  effect  was  any  thing  but  bene- 
ficial to  her  personal  appearance. 

The  next  day  the  book  came,  and,  after 
her  father  had  finished  examining  it,  he  hand- 
ed it  over  to  her  keeping.  It  was  a  volume 
of  mechanical  designs,  not  very  interesting  to 
her  ;  but  she  took  it  to  a  window,  and  began 
making  preparations  for  copying  Plate  XL. 


BERNARD'S  INVENTION. 


151 


She  copied  for  some  time,  tlien  grew  tired, 
and,  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  table,  care- 
lessly turned  over  the  leaves.  As  she  did  so, 
a  piece  of  paper  fluttered  out  from  between 
two  of  the  pages,  and  fell  to  the  floor.  She 
stooped,  picked  it  up,  and  was  returning  it  to 
the  boolv,  when  something  about  it  attracted 
her  attention.  It  was  merely  an  ordinary 
piece  of  drawing-paper,  on  which  was  traced 
the  rough  outline  of  a  design.  But  the  paper 
itself  struck  her  as  familiar.  She  had  seen, 
she  had  handled  it,  she  felt  sure ;  and,  on  look- 
ing more  closely,  she  found  she  was  right,  for 
in  the  corner  her  own  private  mark — a  cu- 
riously-interlaced monogram  of  her  name — 
was  written  with  ink.  It  was  a  sheet  of  her 
own  paper,  and  bad  been  taken  from  her  own 
portfolio.  This,  which  seemed  at  first  sight  a 
slight-enough  mystery,  puzzled  her  exceed- 
ingly. In  consequence  of  her  father's  sus- 
picious fears,  she  always  kept  her  portfoho 
carefully  put  away ;  and,  as  far  as  her  own 
knowledge  extended,  no  one,  not  even  Ber- 
nard, had  ever  been  permitted  to  examine  it. 
How,  then,  had  this  paper,  with  her  own  mark 
upon  it,  been  extracted  therefrom  ?  She 
looked  at  the  design.  That  was  certainly  not 
of  her  drawing.  She  shook  her  head,  and  was 
about  to  put  down  the  paper  and  dismiss  the 
subject  with  a  "Yery  curious!"  when  a  few 
faint,  half-effaced  lines  on  the  back  attracted 
her  eye.  She  looked  at  these  for  a  moment 
with  her  brows  bent,  then  suddenly  rose, 
pushed  back  the  table,  and  went  nearer  to  the 
light.  Even  this,  however,  was  not  sufiBcient 
for  what  she  wished  to  decipher,  and  she 
hastily  took  up  a  magnjfying-glass.  By  the 
aid  of  this,  she  soon  di^erned  that  a  design 
on  the  back  of  the  paper  had  been  carefully 
rubbed  out,  leaving  only  a  few  lines  visible. 
These  few  lines,  however,  were  to  her  of  im- 
mense significance,  for  they  showed  her  that 
the  effaced  drawing  had  been  her  own,  and 
that  it  had  been  one  of  the  designs  of  her  fa- 
ther's invention. 

At  this  point  her  breath  came  fast,  her 
hands  trembled,  her  color  varied  every  instant, 
and,  if  any  one  had  been  looking  on,  he  would 
certainly  have  thought  her  beside  herself  with 
excitement.  Still,  she  controlled  this  excite- 
ment, and,  though  she  was  tingling  in  every 
nerve  with  the  importance  of  the  discovery 
just  made,  went  steadily  on  to  follow  it  up  as 
well  as  she  could.  Thanks  to  the  magnifying- 
glass,  she  soon  found  what  she  was  now  espe- 


cially in  search  of — a  number  in  the  comer  of 
the  sheet.  When  this  was  deciphered,  she 
laid  the  paper  down  and  left  the  room,  return- 
ing in  an  instant  with  her  portfolio.  Noiv  it 
chanced  that,  having  been  trained  by  a  man, 
she  had  much  of  masculine  precision  about 
her,  and  in  the  different  pockets  of  this  re- 
ceptacle were  carefully  numbered  and  filed 
away,  in  their  proper  order  of  date,  the  designs 
she  had  made  for  the  now  useless  invention. 
Owing  to  the  number  she  had  just  deciphered 
on  the  effaced  drawing,  she  knew  exactly  where 
to  look  for  the  information  needed  to  verify 
her  suspicions.  Opening  the  portfolio  with 
quivering  fingers,  she  drew  forth  the  contents 
of  a  certain  pocket,  and  ran  over  the  num- 
bers. For  three  or  four  sheets,  all  was  regu- 
lar and  in  order  ;  then,  suddenly,  she  stopped, 
and  again  caught  her  breath.  There  was  a 
break.  Hastily  she  went  on  to  the  end  and 
then  came  back,  looked  again,  examined  again, 
and  finally  raised  her  face  with  a  half-fright- 
ened assurance  on  it — three  sheets  xecre  missing  ! 
and  one  of  those  sheets  she  held  in  her  hand. 

For  a  moment  the  conviction  almost  stunned 
her.  Mr.  Gordon  was  right,  then !  The  idea 
had  been  stolen.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  be- 
lieved with  Bernard  that  it  was  a  singular  but 
entirely  accidental  coincidence  of  thought.  Now 
she  knew  it  had  been  a  robbery.  But  a  rob- 
bery made  by  whom  ?  She  was  too  young  and 
inexperienced  to  be  able  to  answer  this  ques- 
tion. Those  who  have  never  kncmi  treachery 
are  slow  to  suspect,  and  slower  yet  to  believe 
it.  The  stars  might  have  fallen  before  she 
would  have  credited  Bernard's  guilt,  and  she 
was  almost  as  imwilling  to  attach  even  a  mo- 
ment's suspicion  to  Liddell.  Yet,  plainly,  the 
matter  lay  between  those  two.  No  one  else 
had  even  possible  access  to  her  portfolio,  and 
the  possession  of  that  sheet,  the  effaced  de- 
sign, the  whole  array  of  circumstances,  all 
seemed  to  point — 

She  paused  and  sat  down,  faint  and  shud- 
dering. Treachery  seemed  to  come  so  near, 
to  touch  her  so  closely,  when  it  was  brought 
home  in  this  way  to  a  man  whom  she  had  liked, 
respected,  trusted,  almost  promised  to  marry! 
It  was  all  a  hideous  seeming ;  it  could  not  be, 
she  cried  out — yet,  even  as  she  exclaimed 
thus,  there  came  to  her  a  memory  which  would 
not  be  put  aside.  She  remembered  a  certain 
evening  in  the  early  spring,  when  she  had  been 
drawing  in  the  arbor,  how  Bernard  had  como 
in  upon  her,  and  she  carelessly  left  her  port- 


15$ 


BERXARD'S   INVENTION. 


folio  on  the  table  and  strolled  with  him  to  the 
other  end  of  the  garden.  She  remembered 
that,  when  she  came  into  the  house,  her  father 
told  her  that  LiddcU  had  been  sent  to  the 
arbor  by  him,  but  failed  to  find  her,  and  she 
also  remembered — good  Heavens,  how  clear- 
ly!— that,  on  opening  her  portfolio,  she  had 
found  several  things  strangely  out  of  place, 
though  she  never  once  thought  of  looking  at 
the  designs.  What  if  this  meant — what  if  it 
proved —  But  here  the  full  nature  of  the  dis- 
covery came  over  her  so  strongly  that,  but  for 
the  recollection  of  Bernard,  she  would  have 
thrust  away  the  tell-tale  paper,  and  never 
thought  again  of  the  dark  suspicion  it  had 
brought  forth.  As  it  was,  however,  she  could 
not  do  this.  His  face,  as  she  had  seen  it  only 
the  evening  before,  rose  up  before  her,  and 
seemed  bidding  her  clear  his  name.  He  could 
do  nothing  for  himself;  but,  if  indeed  she  held 
the  means  to  prove  his  innocence,  should  she 
fail  to  use  it?  If  Liddell  was  guilty,  surely 
his  double  treachery — treachery  to  Bernard, 
as  well  as  to  her  father — deserved  to  suffer 
the  penalty  of  detection ;  and,  if  he  was  inno- 
cent, an  explanation  could  not  harm  him.  At 
all  risks,  she  was  detei'mined  to  go  on — to  fol- 
low the  path  thus  unexpectedly  opened  for 
her.  Without  giving  herself  time  to  think,  she 
seized  a  pen  and  wrote  a  short  note — the  first 
in  eight  long  months — to  Bernard  : 

"  Dear  Louis  :  Forgive  me  that  I  write  to 
you.  I  only  do  so,  because  I  have  made  a  dis- 
covery which,  it  seems  to  me,  you  ought  to 
know,  and  which  may  be  of  importance  to 
you.  What  it  is,  you  shall  hear  when  we  meet. 
I  must,  however,  ask  one  question.  Am  I  right 
in  supposing  that  Mr.  Liddell  was  the  original 
possessor  of  the  invention  which  you  patented, 
and  that  it  was  he  who  brought  the  design  to 
you  ?  If  so,  do  not  hesitate  to  come  here  this 
afternoon,  and  bring  all  his  original  draughts 
with  you.  Yours  ever, 

"Annie  Gordon." 

About  four  o'clock,  that  afternoon,  there 
was  a  knock  at  Mr.  Gordon's  door,  and,  when 
Annie  flew  down  from  an  ambuscade  on  the 
staircase  and  opened  it,  she  stood  face  to  face 
with  Bernard.  The  young  man  stepped  with- 
in the  passage  without  a  word,  and  the  next 
moment  would  have  taken  the  pretty  porteress 
into  his  arms,  if  she  had  not  drawn  away,  put 
her  finger  to  her  lips,  and  beckoned  him  in 


the  direction  of  a  certain  odd  little  room  which 
no  one  but  herself  ever  invaded.  Once  safely 
inside  this  sanctuary,  she  turned  and  held  out 
her  hands,  saying : 

"  0  Louis,  you  cannot  tell  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you  again ! " 

"  And  I  you,  my  darling ! "  said  Louis, 
warmly.  But,  after  a  minute,  he  went  on  more 
gravely :  "  I  don't  like  this,  Annie.  I  did  not 
know  that  I  was  to  come  here  clandestinely. 
I  thought  I  was  summoned  openly." 

"And  so  you  are,  dear  love,"  said  Annie, 
eagerly  ;  "  only  have  a  minute's  patience.  '  I 
want  you  to  myself  for  a  little  while — I  want 
to  tell  you  every  thing,  and  then,  if  you  say 
so,  I  will  take  you  to  papa.  Louis — answer 
me  the  question  I  asked  in  my  note.  Was  it 
Mr.  Liddell  who  brought  you  that  invention  ? " 

She  came  close  to  him,  and  asked  the  ques- 
tion breathlessly,  her  eyes  fuU  of  excitement, 
and  her  voice  fairly  quivering.  She  felt  how 
much  depended  on  his  answer,  how  one  word 
might  overthrow  all  her  tower  of  fancied 
proof,  and  she  trembled  even  while  she  waited 
eagerly  to  hear  that  answer.  After  a  moment 
it  came — very  slowly  : 

"  I  cannot  answer  that  question,  Annie, 
until  I  know  why  you  ask  it." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  if  you  have  ever  suspected 
that  this  man — whoever  he  was — might  really 
have  stolen  the  invention,  and  been  playing 
you  false  ?  " 

Bernard  looked  disturbed,  and  tumbled 
his  hair  about  in  a  way  she  well  remembered 
before  he  answered. 

"  It  is  hard  to  suspect  a  man,"  he  said,  at 
last ;  "  and  I  have  been  the  more  loath  to  do 
it,  since  I  myself  have  tasted  the  bitterness 
of  undeserved  suspicion.  But,  since  you  ask 
the  question,  I  must  confess  that  doubts  have 
come  to  me,  doubts  that,  despite  myself,  have 
grown  stronger  since — " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  Annie  finished 
the  sentence  for  him, 

"  Since  you  heard  that  I  was  to  marry  Mr. 
Liddell.  Oh,  don't  start !  It  was  not  so — I 
am  sure  that  I  never  would  have  done  it — but 
that  is  what  you  meant,  and  now  I  know  that 
he  was  the  man.  Stop,  don't  say  any  thing, 
Louis. — Look  at  this." 

She  put  the  drawing  and  the  magnifying- 
glass  into  his  hand,  telling  him,  at  the  same 
time,  how  she  had  obtained  the  former.  His 
eager  astonishment  was  even  greater  than  she 
had  expected.     It  fairly  startled   her,  as  he 


BERNARD'S   IXVENTIOX. 


153 


turned,  full  of  breathless  impatience,  aud  bade 
her  tell  him  all — every  thing.  Xecessarily,  it 
did  not  take  her  long  to  do  this,  since  the 
"  every  thing  "  was  in  itself  very  little.  Then 
he  caught  her  iu  his  arms  and  kissed  her  as  he 
kissed  her  on  that  April  day  when  he  came 
upon  her  with  the  news  of  his  good  fortune. 

"  You  have  saved  me !  "  he  cried.  "  You 
have  given  me  the  evidence  I  could  never  have 
gained  for  myself;  you  have  cleared  my  name, 
and  made  me  a  free  man  once  more.  0  Annie, 
Annie,  how  can  I  ever  love  you  enough  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  then  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Was  it 
indeed  he  ?  0  Louis,  I  can  hardly  believe  it ! 
Oh,  dear  love,  how  could  he  bo  so  wicked  ? " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  principally  be- 
cause he  wanted  to  take  you  from  me,"  said 
the  young  man,  all  in  a  glow.  "  But,  however 
that  may  be,  it  was  Liddell  himself  and  no 
other,  who  brought  me  this  invention  as  his 
own.  See,  Annie,  I  have  done  as  you  bade 
me — I  have  brought  his  original  draughts,  and 
we  will  show  them,  and  this  effaced  drawing, 
to  your  father.  Do  you  think  he  will  believe 
me  then  ?  " 

"  Ileaven  only  knows — but  we  will  go  and 
see." 

"Without  giving  their  courage  time  to  ebb, 
they  gathered  together  the  papers  and  crossed 
the  passage  to  Mr.  Gordon's  room.  When 
Annie  knocked,  her  father's  voice  bade  her 
"  Come  in,"  and,  when  she  opened  the  door, 
she  found,  to  her  consternation — for  she  had 
neither  planned  nor  wished  any  thing  half  so 
dramatic — that  Liddell  was  with  him. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  on  both  sides 
— a  pause  of  surprised  and  awkward  uncer- 
tainty— before  Mr.  Gordon  rose  and  addressed 
his  daughter,  his  face  flushing  with  anger,  and 
his  voice  trembling  with  indignation. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Annie  ? 
How  dare  you  insult  me  by  bringing  that — 
that  thief  into  my  presence  ?  " 

Now  Annie  had  not  meant  to  speaK — fnat 
was  to  have  been  Bernard's  part — but  this 
address  naturally  roused  her,  and,  before  the 
former  could  interfere,  she  had  answered : 

"  Mr,  Bernard  is  here  at  my  request,  papa. 
He  wished  to  answer  the  charge  which  you 
made  against  him  eight  months  ago.  It  is 
now  in  his  power  to  prove  his  innocence." 

"  Let  him  take  the  proofs  of  it  elsewhere, 
then,"  said  her  father,  coldly.  "  I  have  no  in- 
terest in  him  or  in  them." 

"  What !  you  refuse  to  hear  him  ?  " 


"  Yes,  I  refuse  to  hear  him.  I  have  no 
desire  to  be  duped  by  him  again.  I  tell  you 
what  I  told  you  eight  months  ago — choose 
between  him  and  me.  If  you  take  him  you 
lose  me — that  is  all. — Mr.  Liddell,  shall  we  go 
on  now  with  our  business  ?  " 

Annie  looked  hopelessly  at  Bernard,  but 
Bernard  did  not  return  the  glance.  On  the 
contrary,  he  stepped  quietly  forward,  and  laid 
his  papers  on  the  table. 

"  Since  you  refuse  to  receive  any  proofs 
of  my  innocence,"  he  said,  addressing  Mr. 
Gordon,  with  calm  dignity,  "  I  must  ask  you 
to  examine  these  evidences  of  another  man's 
guilt.  You  may  remember  that  I  spoke  of  a 
person  from  whom  I  received  the  original  in- 
vention. In  these  papers  you  will  find  suffi- 
cient proof  where  he  obtained  it." 

Mr.  Gordon  looked  up.  Apparently  he 
was  about  to  answer  as  he  had  done  before, 
but  something  in  the  steady  eyes  of  Bernard 
changed  his  purpose.  He  extended  his  hand 
and  took  the  papers — hesitated  a  moment,  and 
laid  them  down. 

"  It  is  quite  useless  to  bring  me  proofs 
against  a  man  whose  name  I  am  not  to  know," 
he  said,  frigidly.  "  He  may  be  merely  an  ab- 
straction, invented  to  shield  yourself." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Bernard,  quiet- 
ly. "  This  man  is  no  abstraction.  He  not 
only  lives,  but  you  know  him  intimately.  In 
robbing  you,  he  betrayed  not  only  his  own 
honor,  but  your  friendship.  Sir,  examine 
these  papers,  and,  when  you  have  examined 
them,  I  will  refer  you  to  Mr.  Liddell  for  the 
name  of  their  author." 

Again  there  was  a  pause — a  pause  in  which 
all  of  the  four  might  have  heai-d  the  beating 
of  their  own  hearts ;  then,  not  quite  unex- 
pectedly, Mr.  Gordon  broke  forth,  violently  : 

"  So,  you  come  here  to  clear  yourself  by 
insulting  my  friend  under  my  own  roof? 
There  is  the  door,  sir!  Never  let  me  see 
your  face  in  tliis  house  again  !  If  I  had  ever 
doubted  your  guilt,  I  should  be  sure  of  it 
now." 

"Papa,"  cried  Annie,  suddenly  springing 
forward,  "  you  must — you  shall  hear  him  ! 
This  is  more  than  unjust — it  is  outrageous ! — 
it  is  what  you  have  no  right  to  do  !  As  for 
Mr.  Liddell,  I  dare  him  to  look  me  in  the  face, 
and  say  that  he  is  innocent !  I  dare  him  to 
deny  that  he  took  three  designs  of  the  inven- 
tion from  my  portfolio,  aud  that  this  is  one 
of  them!" 


154 


BERNARD'S   INVEXTIOX. 


She  laid  her  hand,  as  she  spoke,  on  the 
erased  drawing,  aud  turned  like  a  tragedj- 
queen  upon  the  trembling  man,  who  was 
forced  to  clutch  a  comer  of  the  table,  to  save 
himself  from  falling.  In  exactly  the  same 
spot  where  Bernard  had  stood  eight  months 
before,  when  Mr.  Gordon  accused  and  con- 
demned him,  the  really  guilty  man  stood  now, 
and  strove  in  vain  to  steady  himself — strove 
in  vain  to  speak.  Mr.  Gordon  was  about  to 
answer  his  daughter  as  he  had  already  an- 
swered Bernard,  when  his  eye  followed  hers, 
and,  falling  on  Liddell,  he  stood  confounded, 
and  could  not  utter  a  word.  Indeed,  he 
gasped  for  breath,  and  felt  for  a  moment  as 
if  the  soUd  earth  was  sliding  from  beneath  his 
feet.  He  was  glad,  just  then,  that  Bernard 
placed  a  chair,  aud  said,  in  something  of  his 
old  voice,  "  Sit  down,  sir."  Unconsciously  he 
sat  down,  and,  as  he  did  so,  Liddell  looked  up 
and  spoke — hoarsely  and  with  effort : 

"  You  need  not  carry  the  thing  any  fur- 
ther, Bernard ;  I  admit  your  proofs,  and  that 
is  an  end  of  the  matter.  I  have  no  motive 
for  concealment  now.  Mr.  Gordon  might  be- 
lieve me,  but  she" — he  nodded  toward  Annie, 
but  did  not  look  at  her — "  is  all  on  your  side. 
I  don't  mind  saying  that  I  did  it  to  win  her 


from  you,  and,  of  course,  I  don't  care  about 
puttmg  a  bold  face  on  it  after — after  what 
she  has  said.  It  was  a  dishonorable  thing,  I 
suppose ;  but  it  may  be  some  excuse  to  say 
that  I  cared  nothing  about  the  money.  I  did 
it  simply  to  get  rid  of  you,  and  I  think  I  would 
do  it  over  again,  with  any  hope  of  success. 
You  may  as  well  throw  those  papers  into  the 
fire,  and  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  pay 
any  more  of  the  profits  to  my  account.  I 
have  touched  my  last  dollar  of  the  money ; 
and  the  only  regret  I  have  in  the  aflair,  is — 
that  this  is  all  my  fault." 

With  that,  he  turned  and  left  the  room 
— ^not  one  of  the  three  uttering  a  word.  Mr. 
Gordon  was  too  much  aghast ;  Annie  was  too 
full  of  indignation ;  and  Bernard,  who  was 
now  master  of  the  situation,  felt  too  much 
contempt.  So  he  went  out  in  silence — an  ob- 
ject more  fit  for  pity  than  scorn ;  and,  when 
the  trio  left  behind  looked  at  each  other,  they 
forgot  him  and  all  that  he  had  caused  them  to 
suffer,  in  their  sudden  realization  of  happi- 
ness— happiness  that  had  come  as  a  free, 
bounteous  gift  from  the  same  gracious  Hand 
that  can  scatter  the  darkest  clouds  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  bring  forth  the  golden  sunHght  un- 
dimmed. 


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